


The List

by Kats_watermelon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gang AU, High School AU, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kats_watermelon/pseuds/Kats_watermelon
Summary: John Murphy likes to think he's the only one left in his gang with a brain. That's why he objects to their stupid list. He still objects to it when he's ordered (with the threat of being alone again as punishment for refusing) to make Emori Sangeda fall in love with him. He doesn't realize that he's the one who's going to fall.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, my amazing fiance suffered through proofreading for me. Hang on, this one's going to be a ride. First chapter will be fine but after that...... hang onto your hats.

“Murphy!” Mbege shouted. “It’s your turn!”

Murphy walked over, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“The fuck do you want now, Mbege?” he said tiredly.

“It’s your turn,” Mbege repeated, shoving a piece of paper at Murphy. “You have to get a girl off the list.”

“Fuck no,” Murphy said, shoving the paper back. “I’m not playing your stupid game.”

“It’s your turn,” Mbege insisted. “It’s a rite of passage in the gang. You do it or you get kicked out.”

Murphy debated internally before he finally said, “Fine, who do I have to get?”

The game was simple. Get a girl to fall in love with you, and then dump her. Points were added for difficulty, personality, skill, and duration. Points were taken away for failed attempts and for any girls that found out about the list. Murphy had hoped to stay the hell out of the game. He thought it was stupid and misogynistic, but these guys were the only ones willing to hang out with him anymore, so he went with it.

“You have to pick yourself,” Mbege said, pointing at the list of names. Murphy let his eyes drift over it, not really reading anythingbefore he said, “Okay, I’m not picking. This game is stupid.”

“Fine,” Mbege said. “I’ll pick for you.”

He snatched the list back from Murphy and scanned it, nudging one of the other boys. Mbege pointed at something, grinning.

“Found the perfect one for you, Murphy,” he said. “Emori Sangeda.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” one of the other boys said. “Dude, he’ll lose.”

“The fuck are you talking about, Dillan?” Murphy snapped.

“She’s the hardest,” Dillan replied. “Nobody has ever gotten her.”

“Who is she?”

Mbege pointed out a girl with curly brown hair sitting at the edge of the cafeteria, by the windows. She was reading a book, her feet up on the table and her left hand tucked into her pocket. Murphy studied her. She was pretty, but not in an in-your-face way like a lot of the girls at school. She was pretty in the way that would sneak up on you, so slowly that you wouldn’t realize it until you were in too deep.

“What’s so hard about her?”

“She’s the one with the deformed hand,” Dillan said. “Nobody’s ever managed to get further than five minutes before they either get shut down or fuck up and say something about her hand.”

Murphy’s eyes drifted to the lump that was Emori’s pocket.

“She’s the perfect one for you, Murphy,” Mbege said. “What do you say?”

Internally, Murphy wanted to scream, “Hell fucking no,” and run away. He wanted to find better friends, friends that weren’t assholes that played with girls’ emotions for fun. He wanted to be better.

“Yeah, sure. Challenge accepted.”

* * *

  
Murphy slid into the seat across from Emori, a practiced smirk curling his lips.

“What’cha reading?” he asked. Emori’s hand tilted the book down and she studied him.

“Tale of Two Cities,” she deadpanned. She quirked one eyebrow at him. “You ever heard of it?”

Murphy laughed at that.

“Yeah, I was forced to read it freshman year like everybody else. You’re reading it for fun?”

“AP Literature. I’m not a masochist.”

Murphy laughed again. Emori’s lips twitched.

“What makes you so interested in what I’m doing?” she asked, taking her feet down and leaning forward, the book lying facedown and forgotten between them. Murphy shrugged.

“I don’t exactly have any friends. Call me desperate.”

“What about them?” Emori asked, gesturing towards the members of Murphy’s gang. They were watching, punching each other on the shoulders and snickering. Murphy glanced at them, swallowing.

“They’re not really my friends,” he said, turning back to her. “More like people who tolerate my presence.”

“Tolerate?” Emori raised one eyebrow. She smirked, looking him up and down. “I don’t see why they would only tolerate your presence.”

Murphy smirked back.

“Clearly you don’t know me very well.”

“Clearly.”

They smiled at each other for a moment before Emori stuck out her hand.

“I’m Emori,” she said. “And you are?”

“John Murphy, but most people call me Murphy.”

“Nice to meet you, John.”

Murphy laughed, his heart skittering. _Shit_.

“What’s your first period?” she asked.

“Math.”

“Wanna skip?”

Murphy grinned.

“Sure thing.”

Emori grabbed the book off the table and shoved it in her backpack, swinging the bag onto her shoulder. Murphy stood with her, his own bag already hanging off one shoulder. She gestured towards the door, giving a mocking bow.

“After you, good sir,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Murphy returned the mock bow, his lips stretched into a smile. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d smiled that much was. It was nice.

Emori led him out into the courtyard of the school. Murphy didn’t look back to see if the gang was watching him. He knew they would be. Emori ducked through a few shrubs on the side of the building and Murphy raised his eyebrows.

“Come on,” she said, grinning at him. “The bush isn’t going to eat you.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and followed her into the shrub. He was surprised to find a small space behind the shrub, a forgotten nook between the tall hedge and the building. Emori sat down, pulling something out of her backpack. Murphy caught a momentary sight of her left hand. All he could make out was scar tissue before it was hidden away again. Emori handed him a rolled blunt. Murphy took it with a grin.

“Is this what you do to make friends?” he jokingly asked, taking the lighter she handed him. “Take them to your hiding spot and smoke weed?”

“Nah,” Emori said, taking the lighter back. “Just with you.”

Murphy grinned, leaning against the wall and watching her light her own blunt. He inhaled a long drag of the sweet smoke, shutting his eyes. This was nice. Away from the Snakes, away from school, away from his drunk mom –

“Why don’t you have any friends?” Emori asked. Murphy cracked his eyes open to see her watching him with an unreadable expression.

“I’m not exactly likeable,” he said slowly. “I’m kind of an asshole, if you want me to be honest.”

“Hmm.” Emori shut her eyes, tipping her head against the wall. “Me too.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Murphy said, taking another long drag from his blunt. “You seem likeable to me.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“But you’d be lying.”

Emori said nothing to that.

“Most people that meet me usually want to punch me in the face about ten minutes later,” Murphy continued. “My old friends included.”

“Do you want me to punch you in the face?” Emori asked, her tone joking and lighthearted. Murphy rolled his eyes.

“Nah, I feel like that would ruin this friendship thing we’ve got going.”

“You’ve known me for all of about ten minutes, John,” Emori laughed.

“Once you smoke a girl’s weed, you’re friends for life,” Murphy retorted. Emori laughed again at that, the sound clear as a bell. Murphy’s heart stuttered, and not because of the weed.

“Most people think I’m a freak,” Emori said lightly. Murphy frowned at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s why I don’t have any friends.”

“Why would they call you a freak?” he asked quietly. Emori pulled her left hand out of her pocket and Murphy took in the missing finger and the twisted thumb and the two fingers that were fused together to the second knuckle. Emori let him get a good look at it before moving to hide it again. Murphy found his voice.

“I think that’s pretty badass,” he said, earning himself a surprised glance from Emori. “I wouldn’t cover it up.”

“Liar,” she said, tucking the hand away even as the ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. Murphy let his head fall back against the wall, grinning. He was starting to be glad that Mbege had given him the hardest girl on the list.

* * *

  
They crawled out of the hedge a while later, stumbling and laughing at each other. Murphy couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he wasn’t sure it was because of the weed. He bid Emori a goodbye by the door to the school, each of them going in separate directions. Murphy headed for his English class, his backpack sliding off his shoulder a little. The bell rang for passing period and he dodged the people that began to swarm the hallways. He was almost to class when Mbege appeared at his side.

“Where did you two go?” his friend demanded. Murphy shrugged, hoisting his backpack more securely on his shoulder. “Dude, you smell like weed. Where did you go?”

“Through a bush,” Murphy replied with a cheeky grin. Mbege raised one eyebrow and said, “Meet me at lunch, okay? We’ll get your score sheet started.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Murphy muttered, frowning at the reminder that Emori was just a game to the Snakes. He briefly entertained the idea of telling the guys to fuck off and quitting the game to just hang out with Emori. She was ten times cooler than any Snake and he’d only known her for half a day. However, he was quickly reminded of the last person to do that – Bellamy Blake. He’d been tasked with bringing down the princess of the school, Clarke Griffin, but managed to fuck up and actually fell for his target, getting him kicked out of the gang. As far as Murphy knew, Bellamy was pretty much dead to the Snakes. He couldn’t let that happen to him. He would be alone again, with nobody but his ever-drunk mother.

He took his seat in the back of the class and spent an hour pretending to listen to the teacher go on about the implications of Shakespeare’s writings for women and minorities. The harsh ringing of the bell was a blessing, releasing him from the mind-numbing boredom of the class. He filed out with everyone else, heading to his next class, biology. Today they were studying birds to prepare for the chicken dissection. He stuck his headphones in, planning to sit in the back to avoid getting partnered up with anyone. He kept his head down when walking into the classroom, making a beeline for the back tables. The bell shrieked that class was starting and he popped one headphone out, looking up at the front.

“Mr. Murphy, it appears that you don’t have a partner.” He groaned internally. “Would you mind showing our new student the ropes?”

Murphy’s eyes drifted from the teacher to the girl standing next to him and his irritation dissipated. Emori grinned at him, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. He nodded and she walked back, ignoring the whispers that followed her. She dropped her backpack next to him and sat down on the stool, leaning on the lab table and smirking at him.

“What a weird coincidence,” she said. Murphy smirked back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t believe anything with you is a coincidence,” he said. “I believe you’re here for a reason. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“You’re right,” Emori said. She held up a slip of paper. “I transferred from AP Chemistry because chemistry sucks ass.”

“I wouldn’t say biology is any better,” Murphy said. “We’re dissecting chickens.”

“Chickens?” Emori raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware we did human dissections. Are we dissecting the jocks or the nerds?”

Murphy couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his mouth at that. Emori’s smile made the teacher’s angry reprimand worth it.

When the class period was over, Murphy had a free period. He walked Emori to her next class, World History.

“Don’t tell me you’ve transferred into all my other classes,” he said to her, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Like Creative Cooking. Or my math class.”

“Nope,” Emori said, grinning. “Just your science class. You’re only stuck with me for an hour a day.”

“Damn,” Murphy said, stopping outside her classroom door. “What a shame.”

She smiled up at him and something in his chest stuttered, his lips curving upwards.

“I should get in there before the bell rings,” Emori said, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. “Jaha’s a stickler for attendance.”

“I know. I have him for sixth period.”

“I’m truly sorry about that,” Emori laughed. She waved to him and disappeared into the classroom. Murphy grinned at the doorway she’d left through for a minute before turning and heading for the lunchroom. Since his free period was fourth, he got an extended lunch. He took his usual seat by the window and pulled out his headphones, expecting to be left alone. He was, until a familiar figure plopped down across from him.

“Hey, stranger,” Emori said, grinning. Murphy’s lips curved into a smile.

“What, you’re following me now?”

“Nah, just thought I would bother you while you were minding your own business here.” She pulled out a lunchbox. “Do you eat?”

Murphy laughed at the question.

“No, I survive off the lingering bitterness inside me.”

She nodded.

“That sounds about right.”

Murphy’s lips remained curled into a smile as Emori launched into a rant about Jaha’s class. He had spent the first ten minutes reminding them that it was their duty to remember that history was always watching, and that it was their choices that determined their stories in the history books. Murphy stopped listening after a minute, his eyes on the strands of Emori’s hair that slipped out of the loose braid she had it in, and the tiny crescent scar on her right cheek. The more he stared, the more he saw, the more he fell. She had tiny gold flecks in her eyes. A small dimple in her left cheek. Freckles spattered like stars across her nose. The way she spoke with her right hand while keeping her left tucked in her pocket. The way her lips curled into a smirk –

“Damn, I have to get back to class.”

Murphy blinked, the spell broken. Emori was glaring up at the clock on the wall. Murphy glanced up and saw that second lunch was over. Emori got up, snapping her lunchbox closed. Murphy almost said, “Wait, why don’t you just skip?” but thought better of it, keeping his mouth closed. Emori smiled down at him.

“See you around, John,” she said.

“See you around,” he repeated back, watching her walk away. He sat there through the rest of fourth period, wondering if she would come back. Most people didn’t. In fact, in Murphy’s experience, nobody did. Not for him.

When the bell signaling the end of fourth period finally rang, he realized he’d never met up with Mbege. Then again, he didn’t really care.


	2. Chickens

Murphy was sitting on his own, flicking through his math textbook and frowning at the complex equations that swirled before his eyes, when Mbege slammed a piece of paper down over his work. Murphy looked up, scowling.

“What the fuck, man?” he demanded. “I have ten minutes to finish this shit.”

“Who needs that math?” Mbege said, sliding into the seat across from Murphy. “This is more important math.”

Murphy glanced down at the paper Mbege had put over his math homework. At the top were the words, “ES score.” Murphy realized it was a score sheet for the game. More specifically, _his_ score sheet. Emori’s score sheet.

He contemplated ripping it to pieces for a minute, but decided not to.

“Listen, we gotta know,” Dillan said, straddling the chair next to Murphy. “Did she show you the hand?”

“No,” Murphy said, staring down at the sheet. “We just smoked some weed and complained about Jaha’s class.”

Mbege marked something down on the sheet.

“What’s your next move?” he asked.

“She got transferred into my bio class,” Murphy said hesitantly, his hand clenching around his pencil.

“Good, good,” Mbege murmured, writing something else down. “That opens lots of doors, definitely take advantage of that.”

 _Take advantage._ Murphy never wanted to hear those words about Emori again.

“I have to finish my homework,” he said. “Can we do this at lunch?”

“Fine,” Mbege said, snatching the score sheet away. “But we are doing this. You’ve committed now.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Murphy said, focusing on the equation he needed to solve. “Leave me alone and let me finish my goddamn homework.”

The boys dissipated with a disappointed sigh, leaving Murphy alone again. The bell rang before he could finish the last problem. He let out an annoyed growl and snapped the textbook shut, stuffing the work in his backpack. He stomped towards his first period, angry at the Snakes, angry at math, angry at himself -

“Mr. Murphy,” Mr. Kane said the second he walked through the door. “You weren’t in class yesterday.”

“I was at an appointment,” Murphy said, the practiced lie falling easily from his lips. “My mom forgot to call it in. I’ll get her to do it tonight.”

“Mmhmm,” Kane said, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I expect you still completed the classwork and homework.”

“Of course,” Murphy said, heading to his seat. He pulled out the textbook and his work, quickly scribbling a random answer down for the problem he hadn’t finished. He pushed up his sleeves, the classroom overheating almost immediately as Kane started the lesson. After a fifteen-minute lecture, they were released to work out of the textbook. Murphy got up to turn in the work from the day before, dropping it on Kane’s desk. The teacher glanced up at him.

“Thank you, Mr. Murphy,” he said. His eyes landed on Murphy’s wrist and his expression morphed into one of concern. “John, what happened?”

Murphy glanced down and realized that the purpling bruises from his mother’s hand were exposed. He quickly yanked down his sleeves.

“Fell,” he said casually. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Kane nodded, though Murphy got the sense that the teacher didn’t believe him. He went back to his seat, trying to forget the finger-shaped bruises on his wrist.

_You stupid boy, you were skipping school again. Your father didn’t die for you to waste your life._

He couldn’t focus on the math, praying for the bell to ring and rescue him. He could feel Kane’s eyes on him, unasked questions hanging in the air. He avoided Kane’s gaze and sped out of the classroom when the bell rang, heading as fast as possible for his second period. The bruises began to throb under his sleeve and he ignored the pain, sitting down in the back of the class. The teacher began to pass out a pretest on Romeo and Juliet. Murphy slid down in his seat, staring at the words on the page. They began to swim on the page, and he realized that tears were welling up in his eyes. He swore under his breath and pushed them away. If anyone saw that he was crying, if anyone caught on -

“You have twenty minutes to finish. After that, hand in your tests and we’ll move on.”

Murphy narrowed his eyes at the test, his fist clenching around his pencil. He was fine. He was not going to let Kane rattle him. He was fine.

The bell rang after what felt like an eternity. Murphy had spent the rest of the class period staring at the ceiling, counting spiderwebs. He got up and headed for the door, but was stopped by the teacher, Mrs. Green.

“John,” she said, her tone dripping concern. “You’re a smart kid, but you haven’t been turning in your homework. I’m a little worried. Is something going on?”

“No,” Murphy said, staring at the ground. “I have to get to Bio.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Green said, clearly not happy about it. Murphy headed for biology, quickly reminded that Emori was in that class now. The thought brightened him and his head raised a millimeter, his step quickening. Emori was already waiting at their lab table, her feet resting on his stool. She grinned at him when he walked in and he dropped his backpack next to her, lifting her feet off his stool gently. He sat down and she put her feet in his lap. He raised one eyebrow at her.

“I was comfortable,” she said with a shrug. Murphy’s lips twitched into a smile as the bell rang and Mrs. Griffin said, “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

Emori turned her head so that she was looking up at the front, but kept her feet where they were. Murphy absentmindedly played with the laces of her shoes. Mrs. Griffin started explaining how to defeather the chickens that had been put at each table. After that, they would be cutting the chickens open to examine the structures they had been studying over the last week.

Emori removed her feet from Murphy’s lap, pulling her laces out of his fingers. She leaned forward and began to defeather the chicken like an expert, her left hand holding the chicken steady. Murphy’s eyes widened.

“How do you know how to do that?” he whispered, glad that they were in the back of the classroom. Mrs. Griffin was still explaining the procedure for what Emori was already doing.

“My brother and I raise chickens,” Emori said, not taking her eyes off the bird. “I learned to do this before I learned to speak.”

“John, did you have a question?”

Murphy’s eyes snapped to Mrs. Griffin. She was looking back at his lab table with a semi-amused expression. All of the other students had turned around and were staring at Emori, who was still defeathering the chicken as if nothing had happened. Murphy swallowed hard.

“No, ma’am,” he said. Snickers from his classmates slid through the air. Mrs. Griffin nodded.

“Good. As I was saying, this is the most important part.”

Emori finished right when Mrs. Griffin told everyone to start. She had the feathers set aside and the chicken lying on its back. Murphy couldn’t help but be impressed.

“That’s cool as hell,” he said. “You and your brother raise chickens?”

“Yup. Free eggs and meat. Brings in a decent income, too. So, should we start on the next part?”

She grabbed the scalpel before Murphy could respond. He ended up spending most of the lab watching her dissect the chicken with steadier hands than a surgeon. Mrs. Griffin walked around, inspecting everyone’s work, and stopped by their table.

“John, Emori,” she said, examining their chicken. “You seem to be doing well. Have you found the air sacs?”

“Yup,” Emori said, pointing at the organs. “And we removed the heart.”

Mrs. Griffin raised one eyebrow.

“Really? I don’t remember instructing you on how to do that.”

Murphy shrugged.

“It wasn’t hard.”

Mrs. Griffin’s lips twitched.

“Alright. Keep up the good work.”

“How old is your brother?” Murphy asked, once Mrs. Griffin had moved on. Emori set aside the scalpel, peering into the chicken.

“Otan’s twenty-three. Six years older than me.”

“I don’t have any siblings,” Murphy said, picking up the scalpel and twirling it around his fingers. “How about your parents?”

For the first time in the lab, Emori’s hands tripped, the chicken’s stomach slipping out of her fingers. Murphy immediately realized his mistake, but Emori quickly continued the task.

“My parents kicked me out,” she said, refusing to meet Murphy’s eyes. “When I was born, for being a freak.”

Murphy blinked. Emori didn’t say anything else.

“I think my mom wishes she could kick me out,” he finally said. Emori’s shoulders twitched. “She blames me for my dad’s death.”

“Sounds like a lovely woman.”

“She would be if she’d stop fucking drinking.”

Emori’s shoulders twitched again, but her face was hidden from Murphy’s view. They finished the lab in silence. Murphy bagged the feathers and tucked them in his backpack when no one was looking. They were cool, and he was meaning to make something for his back porch.

“I want your lab write-ups by Thursday!” Mrs. Griffin called over the bell. Murphy picked up his backpack. Emori grabbed hers, grinning at him.

“Walk me to class?” she asked. Murphy couldn’t help his smile.

“Yeah, sure.”

She walked close to him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo. _Green apple._

“You probably shouldn’t hang around me,” he found himself saying. Emori raised one eyebrow at him, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

“Really? And why is that?”

“I’m - I’m not a good guy,” Murphy said, staring over her shoulder. Emori shrugged.

“You seem good enough for me,” she said. “What, did you kill someone?”

“No,” Murphy laughed. “No, I’m just… I’m not a good person. You should probably find a better friend.”

“I can handle myself,” Emori said with an amused smile. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

She turned and pushed her way through the teenagers in the hallway. Murphy grinned and jogged a few steps to catch up.

“What’s your fifth period?” she asked suddenly.

“Creative Cooking, why?”

“That explains why you don’t eat,” Emori said with a smile. Murphy laughed. Emori brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with her left hand. A second later, a boy brushed past Emori, muttering, “Freak.” Murphy saw red, stopping dead in his tracks.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Emori demanded. Murphy realized that her right fist was balled in the front of the boy’s shirt. The boy’s feet were almost off the ground. “Say it to my face, you coward.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed.

“Freak.”

Emori brought her knee up into his groin. When he bent over in pain, she slammed his head into her knee. Murphy blinked. The boy stumbled away, clutching his already bleeding nose and shrieking. Emori turned away from him and continued on to Jaha’s class. Murphy followed.

“I told you,” she said to him with a half-smile. He noticed she’d buried her left hand in her pocket again. “I can take care of myself.”

“Duly noted,” Murphy grinned. “Aren’t you worried he’ll report you?”

“Let him,” Emori said darkly. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

He stopped at Jaha’s classroom.

“This is your stop, sadly,” he said. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Not really. I heard there’s a movie showing at the theater.”

“Sounds like fun.”

She smiled at him and his heart did a somersault in his chest. He swore her eyes were the most beautiful things he’d seen all day.

“See you later, John.”

* * *

 

Mbege met him at lunch and bugged him for every detail of every interaction Murphy had with Emori that day. Murphy kept some parts to himself. They were his business, not the Snakes’. Mbege had first lunch, so he was gone when Emori came. The two of them spent a half hour laughing at each other and jokes about Jaha’s class. Murphy wished the clock would move just a little bit slower, just once. It didn’t.

After school, he headed to the Dropship, the local bar that the Snakes occupied most days. The older members were already there. Murphy grabbed a few peanuts out of a bowl on the bar and headed up the stairs to the back rooms where the Snakes set up shop. Mbege wasn’t there yet, though a few other Snakes were. Murphy took his usual seat by the door, cracking open a few peanuts and leaning against the wall, thinking about Emori. The chicken feathers were still in his backpack. He started making mental plans for them. They would look nice hanging from a frame, like silent windchimes -

A chorus of boos and jeers snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see Dillan and another Snake dragging another boy past him. Mbege followed not far behind.

“Murphy,” Mbege said, grabbing his arm. “We need your services.”

Murphy swallowed, the snake tattoo across his back itching.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Mbege nodded and headed into the room. Murphy stared down at his fists, clenched by his sides. He hated what the gang made him do, but he was too much of a coward to consider leaving.

He walked into the room. Dillan and one other boy were holding back the member of their rival gang, the Jackals. He spat when he saw Murphy.

“So you're their bruiser,” the Jackal said. “‘You seem too skinny for this.”

“Murphy,” Mbege said. “This guy has been intruding on our turf. Give him a Snake welcome.”

Murphy shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and curled his hand into a fist.

The first hit made his knuckles sting. The second one got a grunt out of the Jackal. The third one broke the skin. The fourth was to the boy’s stomach. The fifth one made Murphy’s knuckles ache. After that he tried not to think about what he was doing. He just let his arm move itself until Mbege said, “That’s enough.”

The Jackal was hanging limp between Dillan and the other Snake. Murphy’s knuckles had split at some point. He barely felt the pain, a much worse pain slipping into his chest. _I want to be better._

“I think the Jackals will think twice about intruding on our turf again,” Mbege said. “Let him go.”

Murphy kept his eyes on the ground as the Jackal stumbled out of the room. Mbege shut the door.

“Nice one, Murphy, they’ll take that one seriously,” he said, clapping Murphy on the shoulder. Murphy just nodded.

_I want to be better._

“Hey, man, how are things going with Emori?” Mbege asked. “She head-over-heels yet?”

Murphy shook his head, aching to land another punch, this one to Mbege’s nose. He held himself back, saying, “She’s going to need more work. I’m going to head home.”

“Hey, meet back here at eleven,” Mbege said. “We’re getting a new shipment.”

“Yeah, sure,” Murphy said. He grabbed his jacket and left as quickly as his feet would take him. The bar was loud and full of people. The bartender, Gina, gave Murphy a knowing look and tossed him a wet rag and a bag of ice for his knuckles. Murphy nodded gratefully at her, pressing the rag to his bleeding knuckles. He edged a drunk man off his usual stool.

“Why don’t you just leave?” Gina asked. Murphy glared at the bar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Gina rolled her eyes.

“Fine, be repressed. Do you want something to drink?”

“No,” Murphy said. “I’m going home, I have homework.”

She snorted.

“You’re probably the first Snake I’ve ever met that gave a damn about school. Just don’t bring my rag back bloody.”

Murphy rolled his eyes.

“See you around, Gina.”

He grabbed some peanuts from the bowl and left, using the rag to tie the ice around his knuckles. He walked home as the sun begin to sink low in the sky, cursing his cowardice the whole way.

 _I want to be better_.


	3. Watermelon Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home sick with the flu so have a chapter at 9 in the morning

“John!” his mother screamed. “John, where the hell are you?”

Murphy flinched, setting down the two pieces of wood he’d been nailing together.

“Mom, I’m in the garage!” He got up to walk back into the house. His mom appeared in the doorway, a bottle held loosely in one hand.

“Your father will be home soon,” she said, her words slurring together. Murphy sighed, carefully taking the bottle from her.

“Mom, Dad’s dead.”

“No he isn’t,” she said, tear tracks glistening in the dim light. “He’ll be home soon. Clean this shit up. What the hell are those? Feathers?”

“It’s from a project,” Murphy said. “Come on, Mom, let’s get you to bed.”

“You have to clean it up!” she shrieked, smacking him insistently on the arm. More tears welled up in her eyes and she repeated softly, “He’ll be home any minute now.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Murphy said, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders. He tossed the empty bottle to the side. “I’ll clean it up after you go to bed. Dad - Dad will want you to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning on him. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He led her to her bedroom and helped her into bed, taking another bottle from the bedside table. She fell asleep almost immediately, snoring into the pillow. Murphy’s jaw clenched at the sight and he gathered as many bottles as he could from the room and went into the backyard, dumping each and every one out. He threw the empty bottles into the recycling and returned to the garage. He finished building the wooden frame and started working on hanging the feathers from it. The downy feathers went near the top, like a soft canopy, while the longer feathers hung near the bottom.

He finally finished around ten thirty and hung it from the garage ceiling. He’d leave it there until he had time to hang it on the back porch. He grabbed his leather jacket off the hook by the door and headed for the Dropship.

“Murphy, glad you’re here,” Mbege said. “How’s your hand?”

Murphy flexed the bruised knuckles, tossing the clean rag he’d borrowed from Gina onto the bar.

“It’s fine. I think I’ll take a break for a day or two.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Mbege said. “Help me move this stuff.”

He gestured at the boxes sitting on the floor. Murphy grabbed one and carried it to the back rooms. Mbege followed close behind. The two of them spent a good ten minutes carrying the boxes back and forth from the bar to the back rooms.

“There’s a lot more this time,” Murphy said, stretching out his back. “We expecting something new?”

“It’s almost summer,” Mbege said, flicking open one of the boxes. “We sell a lot more over the summer.”

Murphy peered into the box closest to him. There were bags of white powder tucked between the bottles of brandy and wine. Murphy picked one up, eyeing the drugs.

“We usually don't sell drugs,” he said cautiously. “Not this kind, at least.”

“We have to step up our game,” Mbege said, slitting open another box. “The Jackals have been selling drugs for years. If we don’t start catching up, they’re going to run this town. We can only expand so much by peddling weed and booze to high schoolers.”

Murphy frowned but didn’t comment any further. Mbege tossed him a bottle of whiskey.

“For you. I heard the Jackals are backing off after your last job.”

Murphy swallowed, setting the bottle down on top of another box.

“You know I don’t drink,” he said. “But I’m glad to hear that.”

Mbege shrugged, taking the bottle and popping it open.

“How are things with Emori? Do you have a plan?”

Murphy’s mind went straight to the chicken feathers hanging in his garage. The movie over the weekend.

“I’m working on it,” he said. “She’s… a tough nut to crack.”

“We’re all rooting for you, Murphy,” Mbege said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve gotten further than anyone else with her.”

Murphy nodded.

“Is there anything else? We seem to be the only ones here.”

“Nah, just needed help moving boxes. The distributors will be here in a few minutes to move all this stuff out of here, keep the bar from being connected to our operation. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Murphy said, frowning, his mind a million miles away. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

He walked home with thoughts swirling in his head. Why would Mbege make him come all the way to the Dropship at eleven at night just to move boxes? Was it a test of some kind? Why did they keep asking him about Emori?

He shook off the questions and unlocked his front door, heading inside. His mom’s snoring could be heard from the living room. He sighed and headed into the garage, carefully taking the chicken feathers from the ceiling. It took him a few minutes to decide where they would look best, but he finally decided on a spot near the door. It was under the overhang of the roof, so it wouldn’t be ruined by the rain. He stared at it for a moment, remembering the way Emori’s eyes had sparkled when he asked her about the chickens.

He cursed himself. He couldn’t fall in love with Emori. He would get kicked out of the game, she would find out about the list, and everything would fall apart. He would be alone again.

He went inside and curled up in bed, swearing that he would finish the game as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

Murphy walked up to the theater. Emori was leaning against the wall by the ticket booth, blowing bubble gum bubbles with a bored expression. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of a black leather jacket and her hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Murphy spent a second thinking she looked pretty, than another second telling himself to knock it the hell off and focus.

She smiled when she saw him and all thoughts of focus went out the window.

“John!” she called. “You came!”

“Obviously,” he smirked, coming to stand in front of her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“What, me?”

“Nah, the movie.”

She laughed and Murphy knew he was fucked.

“I’ll buy tickets, you buy popcorn?” he said.

“Sounds good.”

Emori had a taste for watermelon candy. She bought two boxes of it along with the popcorn. Murphy raised his eyebrows at her.

“What?” she said defensively. “It’s good.”

He just laughed. They found seats in the back of the movie theater, near the center. Emori swore that they were the best seats in the entire theater and immediately propped her feet up on the back of the seat in front of her.

“I forgot to ask,” she said after a minute of watching the previews. “What movie is this?”

Murphy shrugged.

“I have no idea. I just looked for whatever was playing soonest. It could be anything.”

“Cool,” Emori said with a grin, stealing a piece of popcorn out of the bucket. Murphy smiled. He did actually know what the movie was, but he wasn’t about to admit to being a romantic sap who enjoyed movies based on dumb romance novels.

About half an hour into the movie, Emori leaned over and whispered, “I think they should’ve hired better actors.”

“Definitely,” Murphy agreed, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I mean, if you’re going to pretend to be in love with somebody, at least look like you like them.”

Emori giggled a little.

“Honestly, you’d think a big-budget movie like this could afford some decent actors.”

They continued to make fun of the movie for a little while longer, until the big confession scene, where the two actors shared a kiss that made Murphy wrinkle his nose.

“It’s like watching two vegetables kiss,” Emori said, laughing a little. “There’s no emotion.”

“Its tragic,” Murphy agreed. “They’re supposed to be in love, dammit! I could kiss better than that!”

“Really?” Emori said, her eyes sparkling. “Why don’t you prove it?”

Murphy blinked, staring at her. She only quirked an eyebrow at him. He thought about it.

_Fuck it._

He put one hand on either side of her face and pulled her in, pressing his lips to hers.

Emori’s lips tasted like watermelon candy and sunshine. She brought her hands up to tangle in his hair, tugging on the strands a little. Murphy kissed her a little longer than was maybe necessary to prove his point, then pulled back a centimeter. Emori’s eyes were still closed.

“Is that enough proof for you?” he asked. She opened her eyes, gold flecks shining in the dim light.

“I don’t think I’m convinced.”

Murphy grinned and pulled her in again, shifting so that he could bring her closer to him. Emori moved one of her hands from his hair to push the arm of the seat between them up and out of their way. Once she’d achieved that, Murphy yanked her even closer, until personal space was nothing but an abstract concept in his mind.

They eventually broke apart, giggling like the dumb teenagers they were. Murphy rested his forehead against Emori’s, wearing a bigger smile than he ever remembered having.

“I think I’m convinced,” Emori said, breathless. “Though I might need to be re-convinced every once in a while.”

“Fine by me,” Murphy said. Emori grinned and pressed another short, chaste kiss to his lips.

“We’ve missed most of the movie at this point,” she laughed. Murphy shrugged.

“It was a bad movie anyways. This was more fun.”

She rolled her eyes at him, setting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around hers, unable to keep the smile off his face. They watched the rest of the movie, whispering complaints to each other and laughing. When it was over, Murphy turned to Emori and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

She grinned.

“Only if you stay for dinner.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They got up and Murphy slipped one hand into Emori’s. She tucked her left hand into her jacket pocket, curling her right fingers around his. The sky was still light when they left the theater. Emori started walking in the same direction of Murphy’s house. He let her lead the way, swinging their hands between them and watching the evening light playing off her eyes. When they reached the railroad tracks, Emori stepped up onto them and stuck her arms out to the side for balance, walking along them like a balance beam. Murphy held her right hand, keeping her steady as they moved along.

“Otan will be home from work,” Emori said, watching the railroad tracks beneath her feet. “He’s probably taking care of the chickens right now.”

“Do your chickens have names?” Murphy asked.

“Some of them. Some of them don’t, though. Naming them makes it harder to kill them. You get attached.”

“I suppose,” Murphy said, trying not to think of Emori killing anything. They walked a little further in silence, then Emori’s foot slipped. She tumbled off the tracks with a cry. Murphy quickly caught her, stumbling back a step. He turned red when he realized how close she was. She’d thrown her arms around him while trying to break her fall. She seemed to realize this at the same time.

“You saved my life,” Emori said jokingly. Murphy rolled his eyes, his heart pounding

“You’re welcome,” he said. Emori curled her fingers into the back of his shirt.

“I think I need a reminder,” she said. Murphy leaned down and captured her lips in a soft kiss. She smiled against his mouth.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good.”

They continued on. Emori turned off the railroad tracks about a mile before Murphy’s house and headed into a neighborhood full of little one-story houses with painted white shutters. She led him to a little green house with a small flower garden out front. Murphy heard chickens clucking softly and smiled to himself.

“Otan should be home by now,” Emori said. “If you can’t stay for dinner, at least come see the chickens.”

“I suppose I could do that,” Murphy said with an overdramatic sigh. Emori grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside.

“Otan!” she called. “I brought a friend!”

Murphy took a minute to look around. Emori’s house was cozy and homey. There was a worn couch pushed against the wall, across from a small television. Pictures of Emori and a young man Murphy guessed was her brother adored the walls. To his right was a small kitchen with a beat-up wooden table and three mismatched chairs. A frowning young man appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. Murphy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the jagged scar along the man’s jaw.

“Otan, this is John,” Emori said, gesturing at Murphy. “He’s a friend.”

Otan’s eyes dropped to their hands and an amused smile made its way to his lips.

“Friend,” he said. “Okay. Is your ‘friend’ staying for dinner?”

“I have to get home,” Murphy said to Emori. “Make sure my mom ate something.”

“At least come see the chickens,” she said. Otan’s amused smile grew a little.

“They’re all in the coup right now,” he said. “He won’t have chickens jumping all over him, which is a shame. That’s the best part.”

Murphy stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

Emori dragged him through the kitchen and into the backyard. There was a small vegetable garden surrounded by chicken wire in one corner. The rest was a lawn scattered with chicken feed. Emori let go of his hand and walked towards the chicken coup in the back corner. Murphy approached  the coup warily, thinking about what Otan had said.

“They won’t jump on you,” Emori said, seeming to read his thoughts. “They’re too tired for that and Otan’s full of chicken shit.”

Murphy cracked a smile at that and peered into the coup. Curious eyes stared back at him, though most of the chickens had their heads tucked away, sleeping.

“Nice,” he said. “I really should be getting home, though.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Emori said. “Help me feed them. Or just to hang out.”

Murphy grinned.

“Sounds like fun.”

She showed him out, pausing on the doorstep. She pulled the front door closed and leaned against it, smiling up at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Murphy said. She tipped her head at him and said, “Why don’t you give the egg back?”

Murphy stared at her, the egg that he’d slipped into his pocket suddenly feeling like a lead weight. Emori laughed at his expression.

“I know a thing or two about thieving,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Why do you need it?”

“We’re out at home,” Murphy said. “My mom eats them for breakfast.”

“Come by tomorrow and I’ll give you some more,” she said, smiling. Murphy tilted his head.

“You’re a real mystery,” he said. Emori grinned.

“And you’re cute for a thief.” She stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Murphy walked home with a dumb grin on his face and a chicken egg in his pocket.


	4. Waltzing

Murphy was frying the egg he’d taken from Emori’s house when he heard soft footsteps in the hallway behind him.

“Good morning, Mom,” he said. “I’m making you an egg.”

“You’re sweet, John,” his mom said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “I saw that little mobile you hung on the back porch. What kind of feathers are those?”

“Chicken feathers.”

“Chicken feathers?”

“Yup.”

He didn’t turn around to see her expression but heard her sigh. He grinned and flipped the egg onto a plate, turning to set it in front of his mom. She reached up and set a hand on his face, smiling thankfully before picking up her fork. Murphy turned away, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

“I’m going out today,” he said through a mouthful of corn flakes.

“John, I’ve told you not to speak with your mouth full.”

Murphy swallowed and repeated what he’d said. His mom frowned.

“Where are you going?”

“To a friend’s house. We’re working on a project.”

The lie fell easily from his lips, and Murphy wondered for a moment if he ever told his mother the truth anymore. She nodded, eating another bite of her egg.

“Have you been taking my whiskey?” she asked suddenly. Murphy stared into his bowl.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I haven’t.”

“Hmm.”

Murphy quickly ate the rest of his cereal and set the bowl in the sink, grabbing his jacket and kissing his mom on the forehead on the way by.

“Remember to eat lunch!” he called, yanking the front door shut behind him. He jogged towards the railroad tracks and stuck his hands in his pockets, thinking about Emori’s smile when she said, “You’re cute for a thief.” She saw right through him. It was an interesting feeling.

He barely remembered where he needed to turn off the railroad tracks to get to Emori’s house. He spent a good ten minutes wandering up and down the block, staring at the houses (he was sure it was green, but that grey one looked kind of familiar) before she took pity on him and stepped out, calling, “Over here, John!”

He whirled around and flashed what he hoped was a cocky smirk.

“I knew that was the right house,” he said. “I was just checking to make sure you were home.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“Sure. Whatever you say. Come in. The chickens are awake and we need to collect some eggs for your mom.”

Murphy followed her through the house. Emori explained that Otan was gone, running some errand for his bosses that required him leaving the house at three in the morning.

“What does he do for them?” Murphy asked. Emori shrugged, grabbing a bag of chicken feed out of the shed by the vegetable garden.

“Steals.”

Murphy stopped cold, staring at her.

“I told you. I know a thing or two about stealing,” she said. She gestured at his healing knuckles, scabs and scars and all. “I’m guessing you know a thing or two about other things.”

Murphy self-consciously rubbed his knuckles. Emori shrugged.

“We do what we have to in order to survive.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Murphy said. Emori smiled and handed him the feed bag.

“Have you ever fed chickens before?”

* * *

Murphy discovered that chickens did indeed jump on people when excited, or at least Emori’s did. He was wandering among them, spreading feed, when a large brown one hopped up, its wings flapping as it tried to jump into his arms. He let out a cry and stumbled away, almost dropping the feed bag in his haste. Emori’s head poked out of the chicken coop, where she was collecting eggs. She laughed when she realized what had happened.

“It’s just a chicken, John!” she called. “It won’t kill you!”

“So you say,” Murphy muttered, sticking his tongue out at the chicken. It merely clucked and pecked at the feed that had spilled from the bag. He scowled, continuing to spread the feed. Emori walked up to him, nudging a chicken out of her way with her foot. She showed him the basket of eggs she’d collected.

“I think that should be enough for you and your mom for a couple weeks.”

Murphy’s eyes widened.

“All of them?”

Emori nodded.

“Of course, if you can pay me back for them.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows.

“What do I need to do to pay you back?”

Emori pretended to think for a second.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll decide later. For now, how about a kiss?”

Murphy set the feed bag down and cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks.

“I think I can do that,” he said. “Just one?”

She shrugged, her eyes sparkling.

“More than one would work for, hmmm, five eggs.”

Murphy brought her up to meet his lips. She had to stand on her toes, a fact that endeared her to Murphy even further. He moved his hands to her waist, pulling her closer. She was smaller than he expected, which surprised him. He supposed that was because of her personality. She was far from a small person in personality.

She broke away first, smiling.

“We should pick up that feed bag, make sure the chickens don’t get too fat.”

“They can wait,” Murphy said, chasing her lips. She laughed against his mouth, watermelon candy and joy.

“John,” she said lightly. “We really should.”

He pulled back and huffed.

“Fine.”

He picked up the feed bag, nudging a few greedy chickens aside with his foot. He put it back in the shed per Emori’s instructions and followed her into the house. She carefully packed the eggs into a box so that they wouldn’t break and put it in the fridge. She turned to him, grinning.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked. Murphy shrugged, stepping closer.

“I can think of a few things,” he said, his hand tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. She grinned, tipping her head up.

“Like what?”

Murphy leaned down this time, his spine curving to take him closer to her. She looped her arms around his neck and Murphy forgot about the list and the game and the Snakes and lost himself in watermelon candy.

They spent the majority of the day wandering up and down the railroad tracks, talking. Emori didn’t tell him much about when she and Otan were kids, which Murphy was understood. Growing up on the streets couldn’t have been easy, slipping through the cracks of Social Services. She did say that Otan had managed to get her enrolled in school and insisted that she graduate.

“He wants me to be better than him,” she sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets. Murphy shrugged.

“I don’t know your brother all that well, but I think you’re pretty great,” he said. She smiled at that.

When the sun started sinking low in the sky, they headed back to Emori’s house. Otan was home by then, cooking dinner. Emori walked past him to get the box of eggs out of the fridge. She handed them to Murphy.

“I’ll see you at school,” she said.

Murphy nodded and glanced at Otan. The older man smirked and turned around. Murphy blinked, confused until Emori pulled him down for a long kiss. He was grinning like an idiot when she let go.

“See you tomorrow,” he said. He took his box and left, wondering how the hell he was going to win the game.

* * *

Murphy leaned against his locker, looking around to see if he could spot Emori.

“Murphy!” Mbege called. Murphy turned around, sighing. Mbege grinned at him. “I have the greatest thing for you.”

“What?”

Mbege handed him a piece of paper triumphantly.

“Andy's mom is a dance instructor. They’re having a ballroom dancing class before prom. You should take Emori. Woo her with your amazing dancing skills.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows, wondering if Mbege was joking. He realized after a second that he wasn’t.

“No fucking way,” he said, thrusting the paper back at Mbege. “I’m not doing that.”

“Come on, man,” Mbege said. “You’re taking your sweet-ass time with this one. People are starting to question if you’ve gone full Bellamy.”

“I have not gone full Bellamy,” Murphy said. “Emori is just… hard.”

That was a lie. Emori was the easiest decision he’d ever made. Two weeks had passed and Murphy was falling harder every day.

“Just do the fucking dance class,” Mbege said. “It’ll shut everyone up.”

Murphy sighed and tucked the flyer in his pocket.

“I have to ask her to prom first,” he said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“We’re all rooting for you!” Mbege called, heading towards the lunchroom. Murphy sighed, tipping his head back.

“What does he mean by that?” Emori asked, appearing by Murphy’s side. Murphy’s lips automatically curled into a smile at the sound of her voice.

“Nothing,” he said, his arm instinctively settling around her shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at her leather jacket. “It’s too hot for leather anymore.”

“You’re right, I do look hot in this,” she said, grinning. “Weather-appropriate clothing is for the weak.”

Murphy laughed at that.

“So, I heard that prom is coming up soon,” he said lightly, trying to play off how hard his heart was beating in his chest. Emori tilted her head to look up at him.

“I heard that too.”

“Wanna go?”

She shrugged.

“Sure, but I can’t dance.”

“Good,” Murphy said, pulling the flyer out of his pocket. “Because one of my friends’ mom happens to be a dance instructor.”

Emori raised an eyebrow at him.

“How long have you been planning this?” she asked with a laugh.

“About ten minutes.”

“Alright, Romeo. When’s the class?”

* * *

 Murphy stuck his hands in his pockets, beginning to get nervous. The class started in five minutes. What if Emori didn’t show?

“Sorry I’m late!”

Murphy turned to see Emori, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, jogging up to him. She’d traded her leather jacket for a looser short-sleeved shirt. It slipped off her shoulder, revealing freckles dotting the tan skin. She still had her left hand tucked into her pocket. Murphy wished she wasn’t afraid to show it off, but the word freak still rang in his head. He understood why she hid it. He wished she didn't have to be afraid.

The dance class was small, mostly younger teenagers staring at each other nervously. Murphy got the sense that he and Emori were the only actual couple there.  
Andy’s mom was a perky, cheerful woman who told them all that she was happy they had decided to come. She led them through a few stretches, then said, “Partner up!”

Murphy curled his arm around Emori’s waist, watching the other people in the class eye each other with apprehension. He snickered a little.

“It’s like they’ve never had to dance with another person before,” he whispered to Emori. She just laughed.

Once everyone had been paired up, Andy’s mom began to lead them through the basic steps of a waltz. Murphy was clumsier than he wanted to admit and stepped on Emori’s toes an embarrassing number of times. She didn’t seem to mind all that much. They got the hang of it after a while and Murphy started to move more smoothly. Andy’s mom stopped them and demonstrated a few more complicated moves after a while.

Murphy was proud to say that he learned how to waltz.

The class continued on, Andy’s mom moving on to other dance partners. Murphy and Emori continued to dance in their own little corner. Emori smiled up at him.

“Who knew you could dance?” she said. “You’re full of surprises.”

“That’s me, for sure,” Murphy said. “One big surprise.”

Emori laughed at that and Murphy twirled her under his arm. He liked watching her ponytail twirl out with her. She smiled at him again, gold flecks sparkling.

“When exactly is prom?” she asked. “I've never gone.”

“The eleventh grade prom is this Saturday. That's for us. The twelfth graders get their own next week.”

“Selfish bastards.”

Murphy laughed again at that.

“I'll have to get a dress,” Emori sighed. “I've never been asked to a dance before.”

“I don't believe that.”

Emori raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes dropping to her left hand, encased in a glove and resting on his shoulder.

“Like I said before, it's badass,” Murphy said. “I wouldn't cover it up. It's not a flaw.”

“It is why nobody's asked me to a dance before,” she said pointedly.

“Screw them.”

She smiled at that.

“So since I've never been to a dance before, I don't really know how it works. Do you pick me up? Are we going to have dinner?”

“Well, I can't drive, but there's a bus that goes by the school and a restaurant within walking distance of your house. I suppose I'll be there at 5, as the dance starts at 8 and we want plenty of time to ourselves before then.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Only in my head. Believe it or not, I've never asked anyone to a dance.”

“I never would have guessed.”

“Murphy, Emori, great work! Very nice dancing!”

Murphy smirked at Emori, who hid a laugh behind a cough. Andy’s mom was almost too perky, a fact that they both found endlessly amusing.

“Keep up the good work, you two! You've really got the hang of it!”

Murphy, of course, immediately stepped on Emori's foot.

* * *

Murphy fiddled with the flower in his pocket, staring in the mirror. He could hear his mother snoring from the bedroom, having passed out from her last round of drinks. He checked to make sure the bruises on his wrist were covered by the sleeves of his tux. He glanced up at the clock. 4:50. He needed to get to Emori's house.

He followed the railroad tracks, playing with the small corsage in its box. He'd asked Emori what color she wanted, but all she told him was that her dress was red. He'd decided to play it safe and got a white rose. One couldn't go wrong with a white rose.

Otan was the one to open the door, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Murphy down. Murphy suddenly felt a lot smaller than he really was.

“Um, hi,” he managed to say awkwardly. Otan snorted, clearly unimpressed.

“I want her home by midnight,” he said.

“Otan, stop being such a cliché,” Emori said. She stepped around him, smiling at Murphy. “You're two minutes late.”

Murphy couldn't care less that he was late. Not when Emori was wearing a red dress with a golden sash and had her hair up in a bun, held in place with what looked like a golden crown of leaves.

She looked like a goddess.

“You look beautiful,” Murphy finally said, hoping his jaw hadn't hit the floor too hard. Emori smiled and another part of Murphy died. She was a figment of his imagination. No human being could be that beautiful.

“Midnight!” Otan called, shutting the door behind Emori. Murphy picked his jaw up off the ground and offered Emori an arm with what he hoped was a cocky smirk.

“Your chariot awaits, milady.”


	5. Golden Night

Emori loved the rose, slipping it onto her wrist and admiring it. It didn’t go with her dress at all, but she didn’t seem to care. Murphy led her towards Main Street, her arm looped around his.

“Where are we going for dinner?” she asked. Murphy shrugged.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said. “What are you hungry for?”

Emori laughed and shrugged.

“Let’s see…” Murphy tipped his head back. “What about Italian?”

“Too cliché.”

“Chinese?”

“Hmm… Maybe next time.”

“I’m not taking you to a bar.”

“Wasn’t planning on asking.”

Murphy smiled.

“I think there’s a new restaurant by the post office. French food sound good?”

“Not snails.”

“Ah, that’s just a stereotype,” Murphy laughed. “It’ll be fun.”

Emori smiled.

“Alright, John. I trust you. French it is.”

The walk to the restaurant was bathed in late afternoon light, giving the entire thing an almost dreamlike feel. Murphy couldn’t believe it was real. Emori looked like a goddess and she was going to prom with him with her left hand resting on the crook of his elbow and a smile that could rival the sun on her face.

They were almost to the restaurant when he spotted a Snake jacket out of the corner of his eye and the illusion came crashing down around him. It could only last for so long. The Snakes would either find out that Murphy had fallen for his target or they would do something to force him to break apart what he had with Emori.

_Happiness._

That’s what he had with Emori. He’d be damned if he’d let the Snakes ruin it.

He ignored the Snake in the corner of his eye and focused on Emori again, pointing at the restaurant up ahead.

“I’ve never been there before, but supposedly it’s to die for,” he said. “And as a Creative Cooking student, I should know when food is good.”

Emori laughed.

“I forgot that you were in Creative Cooking. You should make some food sometime.”

“I would have made food tonight, but I thought this would be more fun.”

Emori stopped walking, turning to him with a grin.

“I want to try your cooking,” she said. Murphy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded. “Alright, I guess. Back to my house it is. What would you like to eat?”

Emori thought for a moment.

“Whatever you want to make.”

The walk back to Murphy’s house felt much longer and shorter all at once. He kept wondering if his mom was awake, how she would react to Emori, how he would handle it if she was still asleep, what kind of a mess his house was. What was he going to cook?

Emori’s fingers pressed into his elbow.

“Are you alright?”

He smiled to cover his trembling nerves.

“Yeah, just trying to decide what to make.”

“I’m a fan of chicken,” she said with a cheeky smile. Murphy rolled his eyes at her.

The light was on when they reached his house. He swallowed hard and said, “It looks like my mom is home, so we should be quiet.”

Emori nodded. Murphy pulled his key out of his pocket to unlock the door. It opened before he had the chance and his mom squinted at him.

“Who’s this?” she asked. Murphy gulped.

“This is Emori,” he said. “I’m taking her to prom.”

His mom turned her gaze on Emori and Murphy got the urge to stand in front of her to block her from his mother’s view.

“Why are you here if you’re going to prom?” his mom asked.

“I’m making her dinner.”

His mom grunted at that and disappeared into the house. Murphy heard bottles clink and a door snap closed. He cautiously stepped into the house and saw her bedroom door firmly shut.

“Come on in,” he said to Emori. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Emori said with a smile. “What’s for dinner?”

 

* * *

 

Murphy cleared off the small kitchen table, tossing the empty bottles into the recycling and pulling out a chair for Emori. She sat with a smile, crossing her legs and watching him walk around the kitchen and get things ready. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to make, and opening the fridge didn’t give him any ideas. He finally decided on soup, since it was easy to make and had lots of options.

He began by pulling out a few cans of beef stock. He found a pot in the sink and had to wash it out, scrubbing at the edges to make sure it was clean. Emori offered to help, but he refused, saying she’d get something on her dress. Really, he just didn’t want her to see how badly his hands were shaking.

By the time he’d added vegetables and chopped meat, Emori was peering over his shoulder. He nearly dropped the spoon into the pot, nerves making his usually deft fingers clumsy.

“That smells delicious,” Emori said. “You should cook more often.”

Murphy smiled a little.

“I cook most nights,” he said. “Since my mom usually doesn’t.”

He held out the spoon for her to taste. She raised her eyebrow at him, to which he just raised his back. She laughed and took the spoon, sipping the soup.

“It’s good,” she said, her eyes wide. “What kind of magic is this?”

Murphy laughed, turning the stove off and grabbing a ladle from the drawer. He ladled out two bowls of soup and set them on the table, pulling out Emori’s chair for her again. This seemed to amuse her and she sat down with a flourish, picking up her spoon.

They laughed over the soup, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Murphy made dumb jokes and Emori told him about stupid things Jaha had said in class and Murphy told her about his dad and how he missed him and Emori told him about the time she’d jumped into the river because a boy at school called her a freak.

When dinner was eaten and they were already fifteen minutes late to the dance, Murphy stood and offered his arm to Emori. She took it and they headed for the school. The setting sun bathed them in warm light, catching the gold pins in Emori’s hair and the gold flecks in her eyes. She was content to walk in silence next to him, her left hand tucked into the inside of his elbow. He kept running over the plan once they got to the school. He had the tickets in his pocket, he was going to ask her to dance, he was going to request a slow song -

Wait, no, that was in the wrong order. He had the tickets in his pocket, he was going to request a slow song, he was going to get her some punch, he was going to ask her to dance -

Still in the wrong order. He frowned a little, trying to straighten out the plan in his head.

Emori’s fingers pressed into his elbow.

“John? Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” he said, throwing on what he hoped was a careless smirk. “Just thinking about how impressed the chaperones will be by the amount of alcohol that gets smuggled in this year.”

Emori laughed at that and Murphy’s plan flew from his head entirely. They were at the school doors before he got it back and he was left to fumble in his pockets for the tickets with sweating palms while Emori waited patiently at his side. Mrs. Griffin, who was checking off tickets, smiled at him when he finally managed to produce them.

“Have fun,” she said to them. Murphy just nodded and tugged Emori along, into the dance.

It was surprisingly not very crowded. The gym had been decorated with streamers and lights and balloons. There was a DJ booth in the corner and a table with punch and cookies pushed against the wall, with a few other round tables for sitting and talking. The dance floor had couples and groups awkwardly dancing to something that was probably written twenty years before, with chaperones watching from the sidelines. Emori gazed around, clearly unimpressed.

“Is this what a school dance is normally like?” she whispered to Murphy. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. This is the first one I’ve ever been to.”

_Step one - get her punch._

“Do you want some punch?”

“Sure.”

_Step one has been a success._

She sat down at one of the tables and he made his way towards the punch bowl. Kane was at that one, ladling out cups of punch (probably to keep kids from spiking the whole thing) and glaring at any student unfortunate enough to wander near him.

“Mr. Murphy,” he said when Murphy walked up. “Did you fall again?”

Murphy realized his sleeve had slipped up to show off the purple bruises around his wrist. He quickly tugged it down.

“Down the stairs,” he said. “Can I get two cups?”

“Two?” Kane raised an eyebrow. “Feeling particularly thirsty?”

“They’re not both for me,” Murphy said, rolling his eyes. He gestured at Emori. “One is for her.”

Kane glanced over at Emori, who was watching the dancers with amusement.

“Is that Emori Sangeda?” he asked. Murphy raised his eyebrows.

“Do you know her?”

“I had her in class last year. I almost didn’t recognize her without the leather jacket.”

Murphy snorted, taking the two cups of punch and walking over to Emori. She took one with a smile.

“I think we might be the only ones here that took that dance class,” she said to him. He snickered.

“I think you might be right.”

He waited another fifteen minutes before he said, “I’ll be right back,” and got up to request a song from the DJ. The DJ looked extremely bored when Murphy walked up, his eyes flicking lazily to him.

“What’s up, man?” the tired DJ asked.

“Can I request a song?”

“Go for it.”

Murphy was handed a scrap of paper and a pen. He thought for a second before scribbling down  a good choice. The DJ glanced at it and snorted.

“Got a girl to impress?”

“For once, yes,” Murphy said. “I learned to waltz for this.”

“You picked a pretty depressing song for that, but whatever,” the DJ said, setting the scrap of paper next to his computer. “Give me a few minutes, maybe another song before it plays.”

“Take your time,” Murphy said. He headed back to the table Emori was sitting at.

“What did you request?” she asked. Murphy shrugged.

“You’ll see.”

It took a few minutes, but the song began to play. Murphy stood, grinning at Emori and holding out his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

She laughed at him.

“Really? Hallelujah? Bit of a downer, don’t you think?”

Murphy just shrugged. Emori laughed again but took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She set her left hand on his shoulder and his skin tingled when one of her fingers brushed it. Most people were either awkwardly swaying or taking a break from dancing, so the two of them had most of the dance floor to themselves. Murphy liked to spin Emori under his arm, watching her dress fan out around her and the lights glint off the pins in her hair.

_Love is not a victory march_

Murphy pulled Emori closer, inhaling green apple shampoo.

_A cold and a broken hallelujah_

The bruises on his wrists throbbed and he tried to ignore the pain, focusing on Emori. She was smiling widely, her fingers twisted around his and a few strands falling from her bun. She really did look like something plucked straight from his dreams.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emori asked. The two of them were still dancing, though slower and more in the corner.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m better than the whole sky.”

“Probably because you are.”

She dropped her eyes to his chest and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “I’d take this over the sky any day.”

“You’re a nerd,” she replied, tilting her head up to meet his lips with hers.  Murphy’s hand on her waist pulled her closer and he shut his eyes, forgetting about everything else for a moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

They headed for the railroad tracks, keeping their fingers twisted together. Night had fully fallen, stars blinking to life over their heads. They found a nice quiet spot to lay in their backs and watch the stars somewhere far from either of their houses.

“That’s the North Star,” Emori said, pointing with her right hand. Murphy brought her left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

“That one’s the Big Dipper,” he said, pointing at the cup. “And there’s the Little Dipper.”

Once they ran out of real constellations, they began to make them up, like the ship and the chicken and the sleeping princess and the swordsman. Each constellation got their own story - the ship sailed into the stars accidentally, the chicken’s owner was a god that accidentally killed it and was so sad they immortalized the bird in the stars, the sleeping princess was just taking a nap and wanted to be left alone, the swordsman was a great fighter who accidentally stabbed himself one day and died.

“It’s getting late,” Murphy finally said. “I should get you home so that Otan doesn’t wring my neck.”

He helped her to her feet and she brushed the grass off her dress. He reached forward to pick a few blades of grass from her hair and she laughed, doing the same to him. He smiled, kissing her once and saying, “How dead would I be if I brought you home late?”

They ended up being half an hour late. Otan was waiting on the front porch, sharpening a butcher’s knife. He glared at Murphy as he walked up with Emori. His eyes traveled from Emori’s mussed hair to the few blades of grass that still clung to their clothes.

“You’re late,” he said.

“We got distracted,” Emori replied. She turned to Murphy with a smirk.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” she said. He smiled back.

“See you then.”

He avoided Otan’s eyes and stuck his hands in his pockets, heading back home. He grinned to himself at the memories of laying in the grass and tracing constellations in the sky above them. Of Emori’s left hand in his, running his fingers over hers, her smile when he told her why the swordsman was there in the stars.

He unlocked the front door to his house, the hinges creaking slightly. He shut the door as quietly as he could behind him and went to tiptoe towards his room.

The light flicked on.

He froze, his eyes flicking to his mom, sitting on the couch with a bottle in her hand. She glared at him.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked, her voice low. Murphy swallowed.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is a bullshit word,” she said, the words slurring together a little. “Sorry didn’t stop them from killing your father.”

“Mom-”

She threw the bottle. He ducked and it shattered against the wall behind him. A piercing pain exploded in the back of his neck. He reached back and found a chunk of the glass lodged at the base of his neck. His mom stood up.

“In the morning,” she said, stumbling back to her bedroom. Murphy waited for the door to shut before pulling the glass out of his neck, flinching. He tossed it to the ground and felt the gash it had left. His fingers came away with blood. He sighed and picked up his keys again, heading out of the house.

He had a doctor friend (sort of friend) who would help him without asking questions. He knocked on the window, wondering what his excuse would be this time. It took a moment for Clarke to slide it open, squinting sleepily at him.

“Murphy,” she yawned. “Do you have any fucking clue what time it is?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Murphy replied. Clarke sighed and scooted over, giving him enough room to climb through the window. She took in the gash wordlessly and prodded it a few times before saying, “This needs stitches.”

“Just do it,” Murphy said. She gave him a belt to bite down on and set to work, pouring disinfectant into the wound and grabbing a sewing kit.

“I’d ask what happened, but I’ve learned at this point,” she said. “Do you need to sleep in the shed again?”

“No,” Murphy said. “I’m fine. Just need to get patched up and get home.”

“Hmm.” The needle pierced his skin and he bit down hard on the belt, a strangled cry barely escaping. Clarke didn’t even flinch at his response, putting a few more stitches in.

“Alright. Come back in two days so I can take a look at it again.” She taped a bandage down over the stitches. “Don’t do anything stupid, don’t strain yourself, try not to rip them. You know the drill.”

“Thanks, Clarke.”

She grunted in response and said, “I’m going back to bed.”

He climbed back out her window and headed home, the back of his neck throbbing. He tipped his head back a little and squinted at the stars visible past the lights of the suburb. He found the constellation Emori had dubbed “the chicken” and smiled to himself.

He really was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to post this! Good news is the next chapter is pretty much already written so it should be up soon.


	6. Three Words

“Dude,” Mbege said, slamming a piece of paper onto the locker next to Murphy. “You beat the high score.”

Murphy glanced at the paper. It was the list, with the final scores written next to each name. The highest read 96. Mbege showed Murphy his score sheet.

102.

“You’re kicking ass,” Mbege said. “Those guys saying you’d gone full Bellamy are fucking eating their words. I don’t think anybody expected you to get her for the long haul. How much longer are you going to keep this up?”

Murphy resisted the urge to slam Mbege’s head into the lockers and said, “I’m not sure. She’s yet to say the words. She’s not easy.”

“She seemed pretty easy at prom on Saturday.”

“It’s going to take more time,” Murphy said. “I’ll see you at the Dropship after school.”

Mbege nodded, clapping Murphy on the shoulder as he left. Murphy blew out a long, relieved breath.

“Hey,” Emori said, appearing at Murphy’s side. He smiled at her, shutting his locker and settling one arm around her shoulders.

“Looks like you survived Otan’s wrath,” he said. “How mad was he?”

“Less mad when I assured him that our clothes stayed on our bodies,” Emori laughed. “He ranted for about ten minutes about never letting you near our house again, then passed out. He was more agreeable in the morning after I put some coffee in him.”

Murphy laughed at that.

“Am I allowed back in your house?” he asked. Emori shrugged.

“He never said no when I asked, so I’m assuming yes.”

Murphy laughed again, tucking her into his side and kissing the top of her head.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t know if I’d be able to handle never seeing your chickens again.”

She shoved him a little, rolling her eyes.

“You’re full of shit, John,” she said. Murphy grinned down at her.

“You don’t mind.”

She hummed in agreement, turning so that they were nose-to-nose. She reached up to set her hands on his shoulders.

“I suppose I don’t mind,” she said. She slid her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers together at the base of his neck. He flinched when her hands brushed over the stitches Clarke had put in. Emori’s expression dropped.

“John?” Her fingers trailed over the stitches again. “What happened?”

Murphy was suddenly very aware of the other people in the hallway, of Kane standing at his open door and greeting students with a coffee and a smile, of Mrs. Green a few doors down, watching the students wander the halls and greeting everyone she knew, of Mrs. Griffin nearby, always watching for something suspicious.

“Not here,” he said. Emori nodded, taking his hand and tugging him out of the building. They went back to the hedge where they’d smoked weed the first time they met. Murphy crawled in before Emori. She crawled through, straight into his lap, and slipped her hands into his hair again, feeling the stitches.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“My mom,” Murphy said. “She threw a bottle. It didn’t hit me, but a piece of it bounced off the wall or something.”

Emori slipped off his lap (he missed the warmth) and made him turn around so that she could get a better look at the wound.

“Who did these stitches?” she asked. “They’re really neat.”

“A friend.”

“A friend at the hospital? Have you called the cops yet?”

“No, no cops,” Murphy said, panic flaring in his chest. “No, my friend is just good with a needle.”

“No cops? John, you do realize that this is-”

“It’s not great,” he said, lowering his gaze to the ground. “But my mom’s all I’ve got left.”

Emori’s arms wrapped around him and she rested her cheek between his shoulder blades. He inhaled a little shakily, tears burning behind his eyes.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t want to go home.”

Emori’s arms tightened around him.

“You can always come to my house,” she said. “Nobody throws bottles there. Just chickens and sometimes eggs.”

Murphy laughed through the tears that were beginning to snake down his cheeks.

“Hey,” Emori said, scooting so that she was sitting in front of him instead of behind him. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

_I love you_.

“She’s all I’ve got left,” he said, unable to meet Emori’s eyes. “And she loves me, I know she does, she just misses my dad so much-”

“Hey,” Emori said, cupping his face in her hands. Murphy was forced to look into her eyes, getting lost in the golden flecks. “You’ve got me.”

He shut his eyes and Emori pressed a kiss to each eyelid. He lowered his head to her collarbone, shaking. Her arms wrapped around him again and she said softly, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

_I love you_.

Three words that he couldn’t say out loud. He hated that more than the stitches in the back of his neck, more than Mbege’s stupid list, more than the bruises on his knuckles. No, he hated that he was a coward more than anything. Three little words.

Three little words that scared him to death.

 

* * *

 

Murphy tapped Clarke’s window around eleven. He heard a soft, “Fuck. Get under the bed. I’ll be right back.” She appeared at the window a second later, her hair mussed and lipstick smudged.

“It’s not a good time,” she said. Murphy raised his eyebrow.

“You said to come back after a couple of days. It’s been a couple of days.”

“Does anything feel wrong?”

“Other than the thread through the back of my neck?”

“Murphy.”

“No, everything feels fine.”

“The stitches will come out in a few days. Just don’t fuck them up until then and you’ll be fine. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Murphy raised an eyebrow, peering around her.

“Got company, Clarke?”

She leaned on the windowsill further, blocking his view.

“No, why?”

“Normally you at least want to look at them,” Murphy said, smirking a little. “Today you just seem eager to get rid of me.”

“It’s eleven at night,” Clarke said irritably, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m tired.”

“Whatever you say,” Murphy replied with a grin. “Tell Bellamy I said hello.”

“Oh, fuck off, Murphy.”

The window slid shut behind him and he headed home, chuckling to himself.

 

* * *

 

The stitches came out within a few days as promised. They left the beginnings of what Murphy suspected would be a rather nasty scar. He ignored it as much as possible, focusing on finishing school without any of his teachers sticking their noses where they shouldn’t and making sure his mom didn’t drink herself to death. Emori would sometimes run her fingers over the spot and ask how his mom was. He told her the truth, on both the good days and the bad. The good days when his mom laughed with him in the kitchen and ate all three meals and barely drank anything and the bad days when the house was full of the stench of alcohol and new bruises bloomed on his skin. In return she would press butterfly kisses to the bruises and smile with him when he told her how his mom was doing better.

It was nearing the first day of summer, the days long and warm. Butterflies were starting to flutter around the town. The chicken feathers hanging from Murphy’s back porch were beginning to bleach from the sun. Murphy hadn’t found a single empty bottle in three days, and his mom kept promising she was going to get sober this time, she was really going to do it. The bruises faded from his skin and he felt like someone had lifted a thirty-pound weight from his shoulders.

School was getting out in three days. It was a Saturday night. Emori had invited him over, saying that Otan was out of town so they’d have the house to themselves. Murphy kissed his mom’s forehead as a way off goodbye and headed for Emori’s.

“I’m going over to a friend’s house,” he said. “I might be staying the night.”

“Make good choices!” she called after him. He laughed, locking the front door behind himself. The walk to Emori’s house was sunny and warm, the sun barely beginning to sink in the sky.

Emori flung the door open a second before he could knock, tossing her arms around him and giving him a ridiculously exaggerated kiss on the cheek.

“Thank _God_ you’re here!” she cried dramatically. “I’m bored out of my mind!”

Murphy laughed, kissing the top of her head.

“Good to see you too.”

She pulled him into the house, dragging him into the backyard to feed the chickens. Murphy had learned which ones would try to jump into his arms and which ones knew how to fucking chill. Emori picked vegetables from the garden while he tossed chicken feed all over the yard.

It felt like home.

They headed back into the house after a little while, stomachs growling.

“Let me cook,” Murphy said, grinning. Emori frowned at him, even as her eyes sparkled.

“You’re at my house. Shouldn’t I cook for you?”

“Nah,” Murphy said. “Screw that. I’ll dazzle you with my amazing cooking skills.”

She laughed at that and went over to the radio, fiddling with it until music was playing softly. Murphy searched the fridge for something to cook. Emori poured a glass of water and sat on the counter, sipping it and watching him. He started on a chicken dish with a cream sauce that he remembered his dad making for him when he was little. He found himself dancing along to the radio a little. Emori laughed at him, saying, “I see you’re a dancer outside of dance classes and school dances.”

Murphy held out his hand, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Why don’t you dance with me?” he said. She rolled her eyes but took his hand. He spun her under his arm, singing along to the radio. She laughed again, her eyes sparkling. Murphy’s heart did flips in his chest. After a minute, he had to refocus on the cooking. Emori jumped up on the counter again, licking the spoon he gave her.

“This is good,” she proclaimed. “Where did you learn to make it? Creative Cooking?”

“My dad used to make it,” Murphy said, stirring the chicken in the sauce. “Whenever I was sick as a kid, he’d cook this to make me feel better.”

“Well, it’s delicious.” Emori tossed the spoon into the sink. Murphy spooned out some of the chicken into a bowl and handed it to her, kissing her softly.

“Bon appétit.”

“Nerd.” He leaned against the kitchen table, eating his dinner and watching her eat hers. The fading evening light shining through the window gave her a halo. A part of him couldn’t believe she was even real.

He finished before she did, rinsing out his bowl in the sink. He took Emori’s empty bowl when she was done and set it in the sink as well.

“Otan won’t be home until tomorrow,” she said. Murphy smirked, stepping between her legs and slipping his hands into her hair.

“So we have plenty of time to ourselves.”

She grinned against his mouth when he pulled her in for a long kiss, winding her arms around his neck. Murphy pulled her closer, moving to kiss her neck. She let out a hum of pleasure, running her fingers through his hair. He grinned against her throat and hoisted her up. She laughed, her legs wrapping around his waist, and her mouth found his again. She deepened the kiss and Murphy walked backwards on trembling legs. He wasn’t sure how they found her room, but soon he had her on her back in her bed, lying between her legs and memorizing every centimeter of her.

He found freckles on her shoulders and back, lying next to her and tracing constellations in them.

“I should get home soon,” he said quietly.

“No,” Emori said, flipping over so that she was facing him. “You should stay.”

He smirked a little.

“What, you want your brother to find me here?”

She rolled her eyes at him. He grabbed her left hand, which she had started to tuck under the pillow, and brought it to his lips. He heard her breath hitch and her eyes darted to his. He smiled against her knuckles.

“I guess I can stay,” he said. She grinned.

“Good.”

She discovered the snake tattoo on his back a little while later. Murphy was falling asleep when he felt her fingers gently trace the curling serpent. His eyes snapped open.

“You’re a Snake,” she said softly. He rolled over so that he was facing her. Her expression was unreadable.

“Yeah, I am,” he finally said. Emori sighed, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Is that why you told me that I should stay away from you?” she asked. Murphy swallowed.

“Yeah. The things I’ve done for the Snakes…”

“My brother’s a Jackal,” she said. Murphy blinked and she offered him a sad smile. “So am I, technically. Trust me, I know what the Snakes are capable of. Why did you join them?”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Murphy whispered. Emori kissed his nose.

“I won’t let you be alone,” she promised. Murphy shut his eyes.

_I love you_.

He couldn’t say it out loud. He was too much of a coward.

_Three words._

She tucked herself into his collarbone and fell asleep there. Murphy stayed awake a little while longer, listening to her soft breathing and watching the hair around her face stir with every exhale. Once he was sure she was real, he fell asleep with his face buried in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist! This is a Romeo and Juliet AU
> 
> Just kidding it's not.....or is it?
> 
> Okay for real it's not anyways I'm pretty happy with this chapter now we can really get into the good stuff ~~aka the pain~~


	7. Sober

Murphy stuck his headphones in, leaning his head against the wall and watching the Snakes go about their business before him. The music drowned out the noisy bar and he began to drift, thinking about chickens and a soft smile and eyes with golden flecks. He had to figure out a way to get out of the gang if he wanted to keep that. And God did he want to keep it. He wanted to be able to stay in her kitchen, cooking and singing along to the radio and dancing and laughing and telling bad jokes to each other.

Maybe he could tell Mbege he was threatened - no, that would further anger the Snakes.

Maybe he could tell them he needed to focus on taking care of his mom - no, they’d see straight through that.

Maybe he could tell them the truth -

He almost laughed at himself at that thought. Tell the Snakes the truth. The Snakes didn’t deal in truths. They dealt in lies and violence and heartbreak. They’d crucify him if they found out the truth about Emori. They’d crucify _her._

“John!”

Murphy sat up, yanking his headphones out of his ears and staring. Emori was standing at the entrance to the bar, her hands stuck in the pockets of her leather jacket and a wide smile on her face. He nearly tripped over his own feet getting to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly. “You know this is Snake territory.”

“I’m pretending to be ignorant,” she replied. “And I wanted to see you.”

Murphy’s lips twitched upwards at that. He led her through the bar to his favorite barstool. Gina raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Beer?” she asked. “Or did your fake ID expire again?”

“Gina, you know I don’t drink,” Murphy said. “Emori, do you want anything?”

“Just a water,” Emori said. “I don’t drink either.”

Gina nodded and disappeared behind the bar. Emori raised an eyebrow at Murphy.

“Should I be jealous?”

“She has two girlfriends,” Murphy replied with a chuckle. “You should not be jealous.”

Emori laughed.

“Is she the one that’s dating Raven and Luna?”

“Yeah,” Murphy said. “Scary trio, if I’m being honest.”

“A water for Murphy’s girlfriend,” Gina said, setting a glass in front of Emori. “Not words I thought I’d ever say, but hey, life’s full of surprises.”

“Fuck off, Gina,” Murphy said. Gina laughed and moved on, poking a sleeping drunk a few stools down. Emori grinned at Murphy.

“Looks like you have a reputation, John.”

“Yeah, a reputation for being a loner,” he said, glaring at Gina’s back. Emori laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Do you have any good news today?” she asked. Murphy brightened.

“Yes, actually. My mom has been sober for a month now and she’s saying it’s going to stick this time.”

“John, that’s amazing!” Emori said, her smile blinding. “I’m so glad that she’s getting better.”

“Me too,” Murphy said. He could barely remember the last time he’d found bruises the shape of fingers on his skin. “I think she’s going to actually make it this time.”

Emori rested her head on his shoulder.

“She’s going to make it,” she said. “She’ll get better. Who wouldn’t want to for you?”

Murphy grinned.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I have to pick something up from the back. Don’t start any bar fights while I’m gone.”

“No promises!” Emori called after him. He chuckled to himself and headed to the back room. Mbege was playing poker with a few other boys.

“Hey, man,” he said. “Emori’s here, I just need to look at my shit.”

“Emori’s here?” Mbege demanded, shooting to his feet. “Does she know you’re a Snake?”

“No,” Murphy said. “I don’t think she knows anything. She’s just here having a drink.”

“Yeah, alright,” Mbege said. He handed Murphy the score sheet. “Has she said the words yet?”

“No,” Murphy said, squinting at the sheet. He was really racking up points in the “duration” category. Which category could he flunk out of? A quick scan of the other categories revealed that he was doing amazingly well in every category. _Damn_. He contemplated ripping the sheet to pieces but decided against it given the Snake eyes on him. “How much longer do I get?”

“Fuck, man. As long as you need. This is the best one we’ve ever seen.”

_Wonder why._

Murphy handed the sheet back before he could crumple it up and said, “I’ll see you tonight, I’m going to take Emori home before she starts asking questions.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you.”

Murphy headed back out to the bar, made up an excuse about them not having his stuff, and led Emori out.

“Is Gina the bartender there most days?” Emori asked. Murphy shrugged.

“Most days, yeah. Sometimes it’s Luna, but Luna’s always trying to get people to meditate instead of drink.”

Emori laughed.

“That seems like something Luna would do.”

She kissed him goodbye on the front porch of her house and he walked home with a stupid grin, planning all the ways he would flunk out of the game and escape the gang. He had to do it without revealing to Emori what was going on. She couldn’t ever know. It would break her heart.

“Hey, John,” Murphy’s mom greeted him when he walked in the door. “I’m making dinner tonight.”

“Awesome,” Murphy said, kissing the side of her head as he walked by. “I was going over to the Dropship for dinner. It’s guy’s night again.”

“Again? Lord, John, you’d think you were in a gang or something.”

Murphy forced a laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom.”

He left the house an hour before sunset, a plan slowly formulating in his head. He had to flunk out of a category he didn’t have many points in. If he lost the game, he’d get a clean break from the Snakes. He had Emori and his mom was sober. He wouldn’t be alone if he left the Snakes.

He walked into the Dropship with a half-hidden smile, imagining Emori’s face when he told her he’d gotten out of the gang.

“Murphy,” Mbege said, grabbing him by the arm. “Where’s Emori?”

Murphy blinked.

“What? Why?”

“She stole from us.”

Murphy’s blood ran cold. He knew the punishment for stealing from the Snakes. Partial strangulation. Even if they didn’t know Emori was a Jackal, they would still do it, just to ensure that she didn’t try to steal from them again. It was a scare tactic, and an effective one.

“You can’t,” he blurted. Mbege turned to him, scowling.

“Why the hell not?” he demanded. Murphy desperately tried to think of a reason that Mbege would buy. Mbege’s eyes narrowed. “ _Have_ you gone full Bellamy?”

“She’s beginning to suspect that I’m a Snake,” Murphy said quickly. “After today in the bar. If the Snakes suddenly come after her, all the work I’ve been doing getting her to fall for me will collapse. I’ll lose the game and you’ll be down a bruiser. You know the rules.”

“So do you, Murphy. Even if we don’t do it to Emori, someone has to pay for what was stolen.”

“I will,” Murphy said. Mbege raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I could use it to my advantage.” Murphy nearly choked on the words. “Manipulate her into pitying me.”

Mbege nodded.

“You sure, man? You know what the punishment for stealing is. It ain’t pleasant.”

“No Snake punishments are pleasant,” Murphy said with a small smile. Mbege nodded, sucking on his bottom lip and rocking backwards on his heels.

“I’ll get the rope.”

Murphy waited in the center of one of the back rooms. He watched Andy tie a noose with the rope and took a deep breath, staring at the wall opposite of him. He couldn’t back down. If it wasn’t him, it would be Emori on the end of that noose, and that wasn’t an option.

“You ready?” Andy asked. Murphy nodded.

“Just get it over with.”

He flinched when the rope was lowered over his head and pulled tight.

It lasted what felt like hours. He couldn’t pull in a breath, he couldn’t move, all he could do was scream silently and scratch at the rope around his neck.

“Murphy, come on, man, it’s over. Get up.”

Murphy sat up, gasping for breath. He rubbed his throat, glaring at the rope next to him.

“Go home,” Mbege said. “Rest up. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

Murphy nodded and stood on shaky legs. It was worth it. It was worth it, knowing that Emori could have been the one gasping for breath, struggling at the end of a rope for the crime of stealing.

“What did she steal?” he asked Mbege, his voice hoarse. Mbege’s eyes narrowed a little.

“What does it matter?”

“I gotta know if what I just did was worth anything,” Murphy snapped. “What the fuck did she steal?”

“A knife.”

Murphy nodded and turned away, rage burning behind his breastbone. A knife. Emori had stolen a knife and they were ready to wrap a rope around her neck. He wanted to put his hands around Mbege’s throat and squeeze. Instead, he walked towards Emori’s house. She gasped when she saw the bruise forming around his throat but didn’t ask any questions, leading him inside and giving him ice. She waited for him to say he was ready to speak to ask what had happened.

“It’s the Snake punishment for stealing,” he explained hoarsely. “They put a noose around your neck and pull until you’re about to pass out, then let go. It’s a pretty effective deterrent.”

“You stole from them?”

“No,” Murphy said, smiling sadly. “You did.”

Emori’s eyes widened and she walked over to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a butterfly knife. Murphy recognized the initials carved into it. _JM._ Not John Murphy. John Mbege. Mbege’s knife.

“I thought it was yours,” she said quietly, setting it on the table. “I was going to give it back when you walked me home, but I forgot.” Her eyes flicked up to him. “Why did they strangle _you_?”

“They were going to come after you. I offered to take the punishment in your place.”

Her fingers trailed along his throat.

“You dumb boy.”

“Better me than you.”

She sighed, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was brave.”

Murphy stared at the table. _Brave_. She thought he was brave. He wasn’t brave. He was a coward. A coward stupid enough to fall in love and too scared to admit it.

“You probably shouldn’t speak much,” Emori said, moving to get a glass. She filled it with water. “I’ll look up any treatments for your neck. Drink some water.”

Murphy took the glass gratefully. Emori ended up sitting across from him, telling him stories about Otan that Murphy was sure Otan wouldn’t appreciate being told. He was content to listen to her voice in the fading light of the evening, the pain in his throat slowly fading.

He would do it all again.

* * *

 

Murphy’s mom had been sober for a month and a half. They were halfway through the summer and Murphy couldn’t imagine anything better. His plan for escaping the Snakes was almost fully formed and he was ready to put it into action. He was over at Emori’s house, cooking her risotto for dinner to celebrate.

“So,” Emori said, hopping up onto the counter. “Are you some kind of Snake leader?”

Murphy shook his head, stirring the risotto.

“No, I’m not. I’m with the high schoolers dumb enough to join. Our little ringleader is Mbege, who thinks he’s king of everything. But he still takes orders from Baylis. They’re the leaders. I’m just the guy trying to survive.”

“Baylis… he’s the leader of everything?”

“Yup. Nasty guy. I hope I never meet him in person.”

Emori was silent for a moment after that. Murphy glanced over at her and saw that she was staring at the floor, lost in thought.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he said. “Have you ever had risotto before?”

Emori brightened a little.

“No, I haven’t.”

He held out the spoon for her to taste. She took a bite of the risotto and nodded.

“It’s delicious but it needs more salt.”

Murphy grinned and turned to the stove, adding a pinch more salt. He heard the door open somewhere behind him.

“Otan!” Emori called. “John’s here! He’s making something called risotto, it’s delicious-”

Otan stormed into the kitchen. Murphy turned around to say hello and received a shove that made him stumble backwards into the stove.

“Your _boyfriend_ is a Snake,” Otan snarled. “More specifically, the Snakes’ bruiser.”

“Otan, let me explain-”

Otan turned on his sister.

“You _knew_?”

“It’s not that simple,” Emori said, jumping down from the counter.

“Do you even know what he does for the Snakes?” Otan demanded.

“I don’t care,” Emori said stubbornly. “I know what _you_ do for the Jackals.”

“That’s different. I don’t beat people up for wandering on the wrong side of town!”

Emori glanced at Murphy to confirm. Murphy said nothing, staring at Otan.

“He’s not denying it,” Otan growled. “Get the hell out of my house.”

“No!” Emori cried angrily. “Fuck you and your stupid gang rivalry!”

“This is more than just a gang rivalry, Emori,” Otan said. “The Snakes are dangerous.” He pointed at Murphy. “ _He_ is dangerous.”

“John has never harmed me in any way,” Emori snapped. “And I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

“I don’t want to put you in danger because of him,” Otan said. “You can’t just… stubborn your way out of every situation.”

“Watch me,” Emori said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The fact that John is a Snake means nothing to me.”

“Emori,” Otan sighed, dragging one hand down the side of his face. “Do you know how I got this scar?” He pointed to the jagged scar on his jaw. Emori rolled her eyes.

“Of course. You tell that story every five seconds.”

“A Snake slashed my face in a parking lot when I was fifteen years old just for looking at him the wrong way. I have a reason to distrust them.”

 _I’m standing right here,_ Murphy thought.

“John isn’t that Snake, Otan.”

“But he is a Snake. And you know as well as me what they're capable of.”

“Look, I’ll leave,” Murphy said, grabbing his jacket. Emori set her hand on his arm.

“No, don’t.”

“I won’t have him in this house!” Otan shouted. Emori stood toe-to-toe with her brother, staring him down despite him being a good fifteen centimeters taller than her.

“I swear to God, Otan,” she started.

“Do you want to know about his latest work?” her brother interrupted. “One of our members came back with three broken ribs and needed stitches in his lip and eyebrow.”

Murphy swallowed hard. Emori glanced at him. He met her gaze, wishing he could tell her that it wasn’t him. He’d be lying if he did.

“If you don’t get out of my house, I’ll make you leave,” Otan said, grabbing a knife off the counter. Murphy raised his hands in the air.

“Look, this is me leaving,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

He pulled on his jacket and headed for the door. Emori chased after him, grabbing his arm.

“John, I don’t care what you did,” she said. “You did what you had to stay in the gang. The stupid rivalry isn’t going to break this apart. We’ll…. We’ll Romeo and Juliet it.”

Murphy snorted.

“Romeo and Juliet died at the end of that play, Emori. I don’t like that idea all that much.”

“You know what I mean.”

Murphy smiled.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She stood on her toes and pulled his face down to give him a long kiss.

“You’d better,” she told him, resting her forehead against his. He opened the door and gave her a mocking salute, backing out of her house. She rolled her eyes at him and closed the door behind him. He let the smile slide off his face, turning away from the house. He tipped his head back, shutting his eyes and inhaling the cool night air. When he was sure that he wasn’t going to cry, he started to head home.

Of course Otan would find out that he was a Snake. The universe couldn’t let him be happy for more than ten seconds. Otan was surely telling Emori about all the other terrible things Murphy had done to Jackals during his time with the Snakes. He was their main bruiser, the guy that they turned to when they needed to send a message. He hated what he did for the Snakes, but it was the price he had to pay to avoid loneliness. He just wished he didn’t have to keep paying it.

The lights were off in the living room when he got home. He sighed, flicking them on.

“Mom? Are you home?”

He didn’t hear an answer but saw a light seeping out from under her bedroom door. He sighed again.

“Mom. Did you eat dinner?”

He still didn’t get an answer and frowned, pushing the door open.

“Mom? Mom - oh my God.”

She was sitting next to the bed, leaning against the side with a bottle in her hand. Her eyes were open and a pool of vomit stained the carpet next to her. Murphy rushed to her side, shaking fingers seeking out a pulse on her neck.

“Come on, Mom, come on,” he said, tears burning behind his eyes. He couldn’t find a pulse and yanked out his phone, dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s my mom,” he said, grabbing her hand. It was cold. “It’s my mom.”

 

* * *

 

They said she’d likely died about an hour before. Murphy just sat on the edge of the couch, nodding to everything they said to him. They asked him a few questions - when was the last time he saw her, how long has she been drinking, does he know why she was drinking -

“John?”

Murphy’s head snapped up. Emori was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the body on the stretcher. Murphy shot to his feet and she was there in an instant, her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair and sobbed, clutching onto her like she was his lifeline. She was all he had left.

“John, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tightening her arms around him. “I heard an ambulance came here.”

“She’s dead,” he said. “She was sober and now she’s dead.”

“I know.”

Murphy squeezed his eyes shut, the hole in his chest widening. His mom was gone. Both of his parents were dead. He was alone.

 _Green apple_.

Not entirely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff drop #1!
> 
> I'll be on a camping trip for a week feel free to leave me a comment for when I get back


	8. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of a hole* here is chapter eight! After four months! No big!

“Okay,” Emori said, pointing at a cluster of stars. “That’s the feed for the chicken, see? It’s right by its feet.”

Murphy stayed quiet, tightening his arm around her. Her hand dropped to his chest, laying flat over his heart.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “If you want to go home, just tell me.”

“No,” Murphy said, maybe too quickly. His house still reeked of alcohol and vomit and was far too cold. “No, this is good. I don’t want to go back to my house.”

“I wasn’t talking about your house.”

Murphy closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose, blowing the breath out through his mouth.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, considering Otan’s attitude towards me?” he asked slowly.

“Fuck Otan’s attitude towards you.”

Murphy inhaled again, this one shaky as sobs hitched in his throat.

“I don’t belong there,” he said. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

“No,” Emori said, her fingers curling into his shirt. “You belong here.”

“Next to the train tracks?”

“Oh, shut up, John, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You belong here because I love you.”

Tears slid down Murphy’s temples. He couldn’t say the words back. _Coward._

“You can’t.”

“I love you,” she repeated, more forcefully this time. “To hell with the Snakes and the Jackals and my brother. _I love you_. Nothing will ever change that.”

 _The list would_.

Murphy pushed the thought aside and rolled onto his side, pulling Emori into him and burying his face in her hair. The scent of green apple shampoo stilled his aching heart. She ran her hand up and down his spine.

“I love you,” she repeated. “You’re not alone.”

“I know,” he said. “I just want to go home.”

“Your home is with me, okay?”

He nodded, holding her tighter.

“I wish… I wish things were different,” he said softly, even though she wouldn’t understand everything that he meant. “I wish this was all there was.”

“Me too. I wish we could stay here forever.”

“We could,” Murphy murmured. “We could just lay down and never get up again.”

Emori said nothing to that, just stroked his back.

_Someday we’ll be happy. Someday we’ll be happy. Someday we’ll be happy._

It still felt like lies.

* * *

 

The funeral was held on a mild afternoon when partial clouds obscured the sun. Murphy sat in the front row and listened to a half-assed eulogy by one of his mom’s friends while Emori’s fingers traced patterns over his knuckles. He did his best not to scream when someone said, “She was taken from us too soon, but what she did with her time on Earth was meaningful.”

_Drinking herself to sleep every other night was sure as hell meaningful._

He left as soon as the coffin was in the ground, not wanting to stay to watch them cover his mother with dirt. Emori walked him home, kissing him goodbye on the front porch and saying, “I’ll be by later, okay?”

He just nodded and walked into the house. His foot hit an empty bottle just as the door swung shut and he let out a scream, kicking the bottle across the room. It shattered against the opposite wall, the stench of whiskey filling the room. Murphy watched the alcohol drip down the wall as tears began to pour down his face and a numb feeling appeared in his chest.

_How could you?_

He swept up the glass and wiped up the whiskey, his arms moving robotically as the numbness in his chest began to spread. He picked up the other empty liquor bottles and filled the recycling bin with them, organizing the unfinished ones in a neat line on the counter. Next was the smell of alcohol. He sprayed air freshener until he could barely breathe, opened all the windows, and scrubbed at the stains in the carpet. After an hour of frantic cleaning, he still could smell the whiskey.

The scar on the back of his neck itched.

He went to the back porch and grabbed the baseball bat his mom once hit him with and stormed to one of the trees in the backyard, swinging the bat until his arms ached and the tree bore as many bruises as he used to.

_How could you?_

He dropped the bat and strung his hands through his hair. He had to be at the Dropship that night. He wouldn’t have to make up any excuses for his mom.

He wanted to hit somebody. He wanted somebody to feel his pain. He wanted to put all of the hurt in his fist and give it to someone else.

“Murphy!” Mbege called when he walked in. The smell of alcohol in the bar agitated Murphy even more and he found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, his fingers curling and uncurling. “We’ve got a job for you!”

Perfect. Murphy followed Mbege to the back of the bar, to the back rooms where Murphy’s victim was waiting. He was a Jackal, probably about Murphy’s age. Murphy thought he might have seen the boy before, but he pushed all recognition to the back of his mind and curled his hand into a fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Mbege passing around a bottle of whiskey, laughing with the slight slur that indicated the beginnings of drunkenness.

“Pass it,” Murphy said, holding out his hand. Mbege whooped and handed over the bottle. Murphy took a long drink, the alcohol burning his throat on the way down. He expected to feel disgusted, to want to puke, but all he felt was a buzz.

_So this is what you always chased._

He liked it.

The first hit wasn’t enough. The second wasn’t either. Murphy stopped somewhere around the seventh to get another drink of whiskey, needing the numbness to help him keep punching. His knuckles split and he laughed at the blood on them, his head spinning. Mbege and the others cheered him on, their ugly laughter as loud as the ringing in Murphy’s ears.

Someone had to pull him away from the Jackal boy, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “You did good, Murphy, you did good. Go home.”

He stumbled out of the room, past an angry Gina behind the bar, and out into the warm night.

_Go home._

He wandered to the little green house with the chickens silent behind it. The stars were shining in a clear sky and he tipped his head back to look at the constellations he and Emori had traced out. He laughed a little, shaking out his aching hands.

“John?”

“Emori!” he cried, spinning around. He stumbled again and laughed more. “Emori, the stars are bright.”

A hand on his chest. He couldn’t focus on her face.

“John, are you drunk?”

He put his hands near where he thought her face was and received a handful of her hair. He ran his fingers through it and leaned into her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. He giggled drunkenly and repeated, “You’re beautiful.”

“Holy shit, you’re drunk.”

“We buried my mom today,” he hiccuped. “We buried her but she’s still in the house.”

“Come on, this way.”

She was pulling him away from the house, towards another one down the street.

“Emori I hit someone today,” Murphy said, leaning on her. “I hit somebody and I _liked_ it. I liked that he hurt instead of me.”

“Shh. We’re almost there.”

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated. “And your shampoo smells like green apples.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I think of you when I go to the grocery store,” he said, tipping his head back to look at the stars again. “Every time I walk past the apples. And the eggs.”

A memory of making apple pie with his mom when he was seven wormed into his mind and he bit his lip so hard it bled.

“My mom and I made apple pie once,” he said quietly. Emori’s hand tightened around his and he wondered when she’d taken it. “It was a pie contest in school for Mother’s Day. We made apple pie.”

“That must have been nice.”

“It was,” Murphy said, looking at the stars again. “Emori, I can see the chicken and the sleeping princess! Those are your constellations. Those are the ones you made up.”

“And there’s the ship,” she said, pointing. Murphy realized that they were standing on a porch and wondered where they were. “And the swordsman.”

“I think the most beautiful constellations are yours,” Murphy said. He patted her shoulder. “Your freckles.”

Emori laughed and the sound cleared Murphy’s whiskey-muddled brain for a second. He dropped his head to her shoulder and said, “I want to go home.”

“You are home.”

“Emori, what do you need at this hour?”

Murphy lifted his head and took an involuntary step back at the sight of the man that had opened the door.

“Jaha?”

* * *

 

Jaha made Murphy a cup of strong black coffee and sat him down at the kitchen table to drink it. Murphy scowled at the taste but drank after Emori gave him a long look.

“I want pie,” Murphy said after a few minutes of sitting there. “I feel like this is a good time for pie.”

Emori rolled her eyes but looked at Jaha. He sighed and got up, digging in the fridge.

“You’re lucky my wife likes pie,” he said, putting something in the microwave. “She and Wells are always making pie. This week it was marionberry.”

Murphy could feel the alcohol draining itself from his system, slowly leaving his bloodstream.

_So this is what you chased._

“Not to be rude or anything,” he said. “But why the fuck am I here?”

“Well, Emori usually comes to me when she needs things,” Jaha said. “Occasionally gives me some information about kids at school in exchange for that help.”

Emori was Jaha’s supplier of information. One of the great mysteries of the school was how Jaha always seemed to know what was going on despite none of his students particularly liking him. Wells wasn’t exactly a good resource considering nobody told him anything because of his dad. Murphy supposed it made sense - nobody paid much attention to Emori; she could sneak around and get information out of people.

Murphy stared at the slice of pie that Jaha set in front of him. It smelled heavenly and made his stomach growl embarrassingly loudly. When was the last time that he ate? He couldn’t remember.

_So this is why you starved._

His mom’s voice started up in the back of his head, murmuring unintelligible words. Murphy ignored it and ate the pie that Jaha had given him, nearly crying at the flavor. He’d given Wells a lot of shit that he wasn’t proud of, but the guy could bake a damn good marionberry pie.

Emori’s hand touched his and he automatically wrapped his fingers around hers, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over her knuckles. His mother’s voice got louder for a moment, but Emori’s head on his shoulder quieted it.

“John, Emori,” Jaha said, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “I must ask if the two of you are in some kind of trouble.”

“No,” Emori said. “Just needed a little help is all. It’s fine.”

Murphy could sense the doubt and the judgment in Jaha’s expression.

_So this is why you never got help._

Emori led him out of the house after the pie had been eaten and the excuses made. She made him wait on the front porch of her house to check that Otan was asleep or gone before bringing him into the kitchen. His mom’s voice rose.

_“You stupid boy, you were out all night again! Where the hell have you been going?”_

Emori helped Murphy wash off his knuckles and kissed each wound after she bandaged it. Murphy just watched her, trying to remember why he had started drinking in the first place. Was it the voice in the back of his head, ever growing louder? Was it the pulsing pain in his chest, constantly reminding him of his broken heart? Was it the smell of whiskey that he finally gave in to, just like his mother?

“Do you want me to come stay with you?” Emori asked. Murphy said nothing to that, just wrapped his arms around her. She seemed to take that as a yes and followed him home, keeping her hand in his. She said nothing to the bottles lined up on the counter or the bat still lying by the back door or the chicken feather mobile visible through the window. She just curled up next to him in bed and lent him some of her strength.

 _I love you_.

_“Love is worth nothing anymore, John. Don’t forget that.”_

_No. I love her._

_“Love is weakness.”_

_I love her._

His mother’s voice got louder and louder as the silent argument went on. Murphy finally shoved his mother’s voice aside and fell into an uneasy sleep with the girl he loved next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways most of next chapter is planned out so hopefully the next hiatus will not be as long as this one was. Sorry that this was shorter than the others, it's a little filler before I throw you all headfirst back into plot-land.


	9. Hopes

Life went on.

Murphy turned eighteen on a sunny day in August, when birds sang and the sky bore no clouds. The Snakes celebrated birthdays by getting blackout drunk at noon, so Murphy skipped going to the Dropship and met Emori by the train tracks. She was grinning, holding something behind her back, when he arrived.

“Happy birthday!” she sang, standing on her toes to press a little kiss to his cheek. He smiled, trying to peek at what she was holding.

“It seems you brought me a present,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, whirling around so that he couldn’t get a glimpse of it. “And you’re not allowed to peek!”

Murphy rolled his eyes at her and she just grinned.

“Close your eyes.”

He did what she told him to, sighing melodramatically and smiling at her laughter. She grabbed his hand and uncurled his fingers.

“You’re not going to hand me a giant spider or something, are you?”

She huffed and set a small box in the palm of his hand.

“You can open your eyes now,” she said. Murphy opened his eyes to stare at the small cardboard box sitting in his hand. Emori’s hands still hovered over it uncertainly, like she was afraid he was going to drop it on the ground. He curled his fingers around the box and her hands dropped.

“There isn’t a spider in this, right?” Murphy asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Emori rolled her eyes at him and he laughed, gently prying open the flaps of the box. Inside, nestled in what looked like tissues, was a small silver house key. Murphy lifted his eyes to Emori, who was staring resolutely at his chest.

“It’s to my house,” she said. “Obviously you don’t have to take it; I had it made so that you can come over any time you want to, in case you want-”

Murphy crushed her to his chest, laughing.

“Thank you,” he said. It was more than anyone had given him in his entire life. “It’s… it’s amazing.”

The key earned a permanent home in his pocket. Some nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he would leave his house and walk along the train tracks to hers, tapping on her window to alert her of his presence before slipping into the house and curling up with her on the couch. Sometimes she couldn’t sleep either and would meet him halfway and they would lay next to the train tracks and talk. Sometimes they didn’t talk; sometimes they just laid there and breathed in the company of the other.

It rained the first day of school, the sort of rain that soaked them to the bones. Murphy met her outside the school, dripping wet, and grinned at the strands of hair plastered to her face. She stood on her toes to kiss him and said, “Last year of hell on earth. You ready?”

“So long as you’re coming too,” Murphy laughed.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They had three classes together - physics, history, and math. Murphy had free period fourth again and Emori had hers second. They started the day together with first-period AP Physics, spent an hour separated, had Jaha’s suspicious eyes following them in third-period Ancient World History, conspired at lunch for their senior pranks, spent another hour apart, and fell asleep together in sixth-period calculus. Murphy’s fourth year in Creative Cooking started with one of the idiots in the class setting something on fire, something he and Emori laughed about on the way back to her house. The rain was still pouring down, soaking the two of them.

“Otan’s out of town,” Emori said, pushing open the door with a breathless laugh. They’d run halfway down the street as the rain began to come down harder. “So we should have the house to ourselves.”

Murphy grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pressing her back against the wall and crashing his lips into hers in a desperate kiss that felt like a plea for touch, for warmth, for-

Emori slid her hands into his hair, her fingers cold on the back of his neck, and a shiver ran down his spine. _That._ Water dripped from her hair onto the floor, making the hardwood slick and slippery. Murphy didn’t trust his feet on the wet surface and settled for keeping Emori against the wall. Her hair curled around his fingers when he cupped her jaw softly and she shivered at the touch.

“Couch?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers. She shook her head, a feral smile curling her lips.

“Bed.”

Murphy stepped back and slipped on the rain-slick floor, landing on his ass at Emori’s feet. She spent a full moment laughing at him before she helped him up and let him lean on her as they walked to her room. He whined the whole way about how it hurt and she rolled her eyes at him, saying that it could be worse.

Emori crawled into her bed first and Murphy followed, letting her curl into him the second he was comfortable. They laid there quietly for a while, listening to the rain on the roof and drinking in the other’s presence.

“I don’t know how I’m going to escape the Snakes,” Murphy said. “I have to get away from them somehow.”

“I know,” Emori said, running her left fingers up and down his arm. She was silent for another minute, then said, “I’m applying to college.”

Murphy sat straight up, pulling her with him as an enormous smile spread across his face.

“That’s great!”

Emori’s hesitant smile grew into a beaming grin and she said, “I’m applying at a college far away from this shitty town. I’m thinking Boston, or maybe San Francisco.”

“San Francisco,” Murphy said, laying back down. Emori put her head on his chest and he could sense her relief with his reaction. “I heard it’s beautiful and there’s no shitty snow in the winter.”

“No snow is an attractive promise,” Emori laughed. “And Stanford is accepting applications.”

“Stanford?”

“You think?” Emori’s voice had grown hesitant.

“They’d be stupid not to accept you,” Murphy said, squeezing her gently. “You’re smart and capable and I don’t know if gang activity counts as extracurricular, but if so then you’re good on that end.”

Emori laughed again.

“What are you going to study?” Murphy asked.

“Literature,” she said softly. “Literature and education.”

“Literature,” Murphy repeated. He twisted her hair around his fingers. “You’ll be the next scary lit professor.”

“Scary?”

“Terrifying,” Murphy said. “With a knife in your desk drawer and a look that could kill. All the kids would fear and respect you.”

Emori curled her fingers into his shirt.

“What about you?” she asked. Murphy stared at the ceiling.

“I’m not getting into Stanford, that’s for sure,” he said quietly. “I’m not smart enough for that.”

“You are,” Emori said, tugging on his shirt. “You absolutely are.”

“And I can’t afford it.”

Emori sighed.

“Neither can I. My best hope is scholarships and owing the government lots of money.”

“Like the government ever did shit for either of us,” Murphy murmured, pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling the scent of her shampoo, softened by the rain. She smelled like an angel.

“Will you just apply with me?” Emori asked, her fingers tracing patterns over his stomach. “I don’t want to apply by myself. Humor me.”

Murphy lifted her left hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Anything for you,” he said. “Anything.”

He set her hand down on his chest and she splayed her fingers as well as she could over his heart. He shifted his arm so that his hand was pressed to her back and together they each listened to the other’s heartbeat, the rain pounding a lullaby on the roof above their heads.

 

* * *

 

“The Egyptians had the most advanced ancient civilization,” Jaha was saying, gesturing at pictures of pyramids and hieroglyphs on the board behind him. “Today we’ll be looking at their systems of writing and communication.”

“How much financial aid does Stanford offer?” Emori whispered. Murphy shook his head, squinting at the booklet they’d swiped from the counselor’s office.

“It doesn’t say. For the two of us, I’m guessing we’d have to have 4.0 GPAs and a list of extracurriculars a mile long before they’d consider us for admission. For scholarships I think we’d have to have Nobel Peace Prizes.”

“We’re far from Nobel Peace Prize winners,” Emori muttered. Murphy grinned, flipping to the next page of the booklet.

“We might be able to get some need-based stuff,” he said, skimming the information on need-based scholarships. “Since we’re both fucking poor.”

“John and Emori,” Jaha called. The two of them looked up to see the rest of the class twisted around in their seats, looking at them. Murphy stuffed the booklet in his textbook and sat up straight.

“Would one of you care to explain how the writings of the Ancient Egyptians came to be deciphered?”

Murphy squinted at the board, but Jaha was standing in front of the slide to block the view.

“The Rosetta Stone,” Emori answered, leaning back in her chair. “It provided a basis for translations of hieroglyphs.”

“Correct,” Jaha said, though he didn’t sound happy about it. “Make sure you’re paying attention.”

“Always,” Emori said.

Once Jaha’s back was turned, they again leaned over the booklet about Stanford, whispering about costs and scholarships and daring to hope.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Emori said, her mouth full of sandwich. “Based on the information from the FAFSA, I should qualify for need-based financial aid pretty much no matter what.”

“What a weird coincidence,” Murphy grinned. “Me too.”

She grinned back and said, “I’ve looked at their website, too. It looks like if you’re poor enough and you’re admitted, they’ll pretty much pay for you to go there. And whatever’s left over we can borrow from the government or work off while we’re in college.”

Murphy grabbed her hand.

“We’re getting away from this shitty town,” he said, leaning over the table to rest his forehead against hers. “We’re getting away from this shitty town and its shitty gangs and going to California.”

Emori tilted her head up to press her lips against his. Murphy couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about all the things he would say to Mbege when he finally was leaving Arkadia, leaving this shitty excuse for a town-

“Looks like the washout king of losers got a _freak_ for a girlfriend!”

Murphy was on his feet before he even registered who had thrown the insult. Emori had grabbed his arm and was saying something like, “It’s not worth it, John, just let it be.”

Murphy’s eyes landed on the one who had spoken and his lip curled. Cage Wallace, the most popular asshole in school. Murphy’s least favorite person. His was a face Murphy would love to mash into a bloody pulp. He had hoped that Cage would’ve stayed away after disappearing a few months before the summer, but it appeared that like the demon he was, he’d returned where he wasn’t wanted.

“I thought you were in rehab,” Murphy said to Cage. “What is this, the fourth time?”

Cage laughed off Murphy’s comment, getting up from the table he’d been lounging at.

“I was in Barcelona with my dad,” he said. “Where’s your dad?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh that’s right.” Cage leaned forward. “Poor old Papa Murphy kicked the bucket when you were nine. Is that when your life started going towards the garbage bin it is now, or was it when Mama Murphy started beating your sorry ass?”

“Shut the fuck up before I kick your ass.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Cage sneered. “What’re you going to do to me, Murphy? You’re a coward, everybody knows that. You’re a coward and a loser and you’re going to end up just like your drunk mother and your pathetic father. _Dead_.”

Murphy started towards Cage and Emori yanked on his arm.

“Not now,” she murmured in his ear. “Not now, that’s what he wants. There’s too many witnesses.”

“More people to see me knock his ass into the dirt.”

“Soon,” she promised. “Not now.”

“Emori, he called you-”

“I know. But there’s too many witnesses. If you start a fight, you could get arrested.”

 _Arrested_ . A word that chased him around when he wondered about the Snakes, when he wondered about the questions the bruises on his knuckles could raise. _Arrested._ A thing he very much didn’t want to be.

“No Stanford if you get arrested,” Emori said, and the adrenaline drained from his muscles. “Come on. Not now. Soon.”

Murphy shot one last glare at Cage and turned away, letting Emori tug him away.

“Yeah, run away, Murphy!” Cage shouted after him. “Run away with your freak girlfriend like the coward you are!”

“How soon?” Murphy muttered to Emori. She cracked a smile.

“Sooner than he’ll expect.”

Murphy grinned and slung an arm around her shoulders. They left the cafeteria, left behind the whispers and the stares, and went to the little space between the hedge and the wall to plot their revenge.

“We could release some spiders in his room,” Emori said, her fingers combing through Murphy’s hair. He’d laid his head in her lap and he shut his eyes when her nails scraped against his scalp, the sensation calming. “Or put them in his backpack.”

“Too tame,” Murphy said. “He deserves worse than that.”

“You’re right,” Emori sighed. “Damn, I’m out of practice.”

“That’s alright,” Murphy said, cracking one eyelid and grinning up at her. “We’ve got plenty of time to plan if you skip fourth period.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to think it over for a second before saying, “If we’re doing something mischievous, then fourth period can wait.”

“Good.” Murphy shut his eye again and she went back to combing through his hair with her fingers. He felt her left hand brush over his head and smiled. “I’m thinking we corner him after school and beat him to a pulp.”

“Yes, excellent plan, except that knowing the weaselly little prick, he’ll see that coming. He’ll have a posse, probably someone with a camera.”

Murphy sighed.

“Sometimes I hate it when you’re right,” he said. “What if instead of that, we sneak into his house and beat him up?”

Emori snorted.

“Sneak into his house? John, be realistic.”

“We could put a chicken heart in his locker.”

He could hear her smile when she said, “Now that, I can manage.”

 

* * *

 

Murphy couldn’t decide if having his locker just down the hall from Cage’s was a blessing or a curse. Given the present circumstances, he was going to go with a blessing.

Emori laughed into his side as Cage began to scream like a little girl, flinging the bloody chicken heart across the hallway. It splattered on Mrs. Griffin’s shirt and she snapped, “Cage Wallace, to the principal’s office!”

Definitely a blessing.

 

* * *

 

“John?” Emori asked that night, when they were lying on the couch in his house, her on top of him with her head on his chest and him with an arm draped across her back, listening to a late September thunderstorm shake the windows. “How are you going to get away from the Snakes?”

Murphy froze at the question, trying to think of a way to answer it without revealing the list. He couldn’t exactly explain that he was trying to flunk out of a game that was based around breaking her heart.

“There’s this rite of passage,” he said slowly. “One that all of the high schoolers have to go through. If you can’t pass it, you get kicked out of the gang. I’ve been trying to flunk out of it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No,” Murphy said. _Only if you find out._ “No, it’s not dangerous.”

“Good,” she said, running her fingers up and down the arm he hadn’t draped across her back. “You being a Snake is dangerous enough.”

Someone pounded on the door and Murphy sighed heavily.

“C’mon Emori, you gotta get up,” he said.

“I don’t want to,” she whined. “I’m comfortable.”

“Emori,” he laughed. “Come on, I have to answer the door.”

As if to prove his point, whoever it was knocked again, shouting faintly over the thunderstorm. Emori grumbled unhappily and got off of Murphy. He stood up, popping his back, and walked over to the door as whoever it was pounded on it a third time.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said. Emori flopped down on the couch behind him and he stuck his tongue out at her before pulling the door open. “Yeah, what do you want-”

“Arkadia PD,” the cop on the other side of his door said. “Are you John Murphy?”

“Yeah,” Murphy said, crossing his arms over his chest and blocking the cop’s view of Emori. “What brings Arkadia’s finest to my door?”

“We received an anonymous tip earlier today that you were a member of a gang,” the cop said, and the world flew out from under Murphy’s feet. “In fact, this anonymous tip detailed many gang activities that you are supposedly connected to, like resale of alcohol without a license and to minors, assault, battery, drug sale… Should I continue?”

“Got any proof?” Murphy asked, hyper-aware of Emori behind him, sitting on the edge of the couch and worrying.

“We need you to come down to the station,” the other cop said, having gotten out of the car. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Murphy looked between them.

“No.”

Before he could register what was happening, he was being slammed to the ground and handcuffed, Emori’s screaming ringing in his ears as he tried to figure out just where everything had gone horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go, headfirst back into plot land. hope you had fun!


	10. Pigs, Snakes, and Jackals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot land returns...with a vengeance

If Murphy had to pick one thing he would do over that day, it would be to put on regular pants before he got arrested. 

There was a sort of humiliation inherent in sitting in a police station in just his pajama pants and a thin t-shirt, one that he suspected the cops would be using to their advantage. Emori was out front, arguing with the cops that had arrested him. He could faintly hear her through the walls and smiled to himself, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling of the interrogation room. He wondered how much longer it would be.

“John,” a voice said. Murphy looked down and saw one of the cops that had arrested him sitting on the other side of the table. This was the one that had said they just wanted to ask him some questions. She seemed nice. 

He knew better than to think that she was. 

“The only people that call me John anymore are Emori and my mom,” he said evenly. “And my mom is dead.”

“I’m very sorry to hear about that,” the cop said. She almost sounded convincingly sympathetic. “I’m guessing Emori is the girl out front?”

Murphy kept his mouth shut. The cop sighed and opened a file in front of her on the table. 

“Mr. Murphy, you are I’m sure aware of Arkadia’s gang problem.”

He just looked at her. 

“The two rival gangs, the Snakes and the Jackals, have been tearing this town apart. I won’t insult your intelligence by asking if you know if they have a presence at Ark High.”

He wondered if Emori was still out front, arguing with the cops. 

“The tip we received earlier claimed that you were involved in numerous gang activities for the Snakes, including assaulting members of the Jackals to scare them out of Snake territory. Is this true?”

He blinked slowly, his mouth firmly closed. 

“The tip also claimed that you helped to distribute illegal alcohol to students at Ark High. Is this true?”

“I would like to speak to a lawyer,” he said. 

“Mr. Murphy, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything.”

“I would like to speak to a lawyer.”

“Fine. We’ll get someone down here in the morning.”

Murphy’s pulse skipped.  _ The morning? _

Emori shoved past four cops when Murphy was brought out of the interrogation room, setting her hands on his face. 

“Did you say anything?” she asked. He shook his head. “Good. Don’t tell these pigs anything. They don’t have any proof, just a stupid phone tip.”

“Miss,” one of the cops said. “You can’t be back here.”

“The hell I can’t,” Emori snapped, glaring at the officer. He shrank back. Emori turned back to Murphy. “I’ll make sure they get you a real lawyer, and I’ll get you the homework in calc.” She kissed him then, quickly and desperately. “I’ll be back. I love you.”

“Miss,” another cop said, sounding irritated. Murphy grinned at Emori and she grinned back, with a sadness in her eyes that he wished wasn’t his fault. 

“I’ll be back,” she promised. Then Murphy was hauled away and placed in a holding cell with four other scruffy-looking men. One of them cracked his knuckles when Murphy was dumped in the cell. Murphy wished again that the cops had at least had the decency to arrest him before he put on his pajamas. 

“Where the hell did they pull you up from?” one of the men asked. Murphy didn’t answer, moving to sit on the ground as far from them as possible. He leaned his head against the wall and watched them with half-lidded eyes. They watched him right back. 

“He’s a Snake,” one of them finally said. Murphy spotted a tattoo on that one’s arm - an ornate J. A shiver ran down his spine. _ A Jackal.  _ “I can smell the serpent on him.”

“You’re full of it,” one of the other men snapped. “He’s just a kid.”

“The Snakes recruit early. What do you say, boy? Are you a Snake?”

Murphy kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself to respond. 

“Show us your shoulder,” one of the other four said, clearly on board with the first. “Prove that you’re not.”

“I don’t have anything to prove to you,” Murphy said, staring them down defiantly. 

He should’ve kept his mouth shut. 

By the time the cops pulled him away, his nose was bloody and he couldn’t breathe without his entire chest hurting. It was far less than he had expected. They’d mostly just kicked the crap out of him. The cops put him in a separate holding cell across from the Jackals and the one that had started the fight spat on the floor, saying, “Little piggies should leave the Jackals  to their snake hunting.”

The cop glanced at Murphy, who just grimaced and pressed a hand to his bruising side.  

“Keep it down,” the cop finally said, leaving. The Jackal spat on the floor again and turned away from Murphy. Murphy curled up on bench in the back of the holding cell, turning his back to the Jackals and letting silent tears slip out. He was stupid to imagine he and Emori could’ve been happy. 

He was stupid to hope.

 

* * *

 

In the morning they got a lawyer down to the station and Murphy was told to say absolutely nothing, which had been his plan in the first place. The cops eventually had to let him go as they had no substantial evidence. Emori arrived and screamed at the cops when she saw Murphy’s bloody and bruised face. Murphy sat and watched as she tore them a new one, marveling at the force of nature that she held in her body. She finished off her speech with a raised middle finger as she walked out of the station with Murphy.

“Pigs,” she muttered. She gave him his jacket and a pair of shoes and he kissed her as a thank-you. “What the hell happened?”

“They put me in a cell with a couple of Jackals,” he explained. “They weren’t too happy to see me.”

“This stupid gang rivalry,” Emori grumbled. “You missed some crazy shit in class. Jaha’s tea exploded.”

“What?”

She launched into an explanation about how some idiot threw something at the board that bounced off and broke Jaha’s mug of tea. Murphy half-listened, watching the setting sun glint off of her hair and thinking about her hand in his. 

“I’ve got to get to the Dropship tonight,” he said when they reached his house. “Mbege will get suspicious if I don’t show two nights in a row.”

“Are you sure?” Emori asked, her eyes worried. “Is that safe with the cops?”

“They can’t do anything,” Murphy said. “I’m innocent, remember?”

She frowned. He kissed her cheek and promised to be careful, heading to the bar. 

“Murphy!” Mbege shouted when he walked in. “Holy fuck, what happened to your face? Did the cops do that? We heard you got arrested.”

“I’m innocent,” Murphy grinned. “They’ve got nothing on me.”

“Who fucked up your face?”

“They stuck me in a cell with a couple of Jackals.” Murphy shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“Fuck no,” Mbege said. “We can’t just let the Jackals beat up our members and get away with it. There has to be a retaliation.”

“Mbege,” Murphy said. “The cops are already suspicious. The person that called in the tip on me knew what I do for the Snakes. We can’t make this worse. We need to let it cool down.”

“You’ve been playing Emori on the long game so long you forgot how short shit works,” Mbege laughed, and Murphy tried not to imagine drop-kicking him into the next state. “The Jackals are all about the short game. We need to hit them before they hit us again.”

That didn’t make any sense, but Murphy could smell whiskey on Mbege and chose to let it go.

“What’s our move?” he asked. 

“First we figure out who called in the tip on you and fuck them up. Then we fuck up a few Jackals.”

“First one’s easy,” Murphy said, gesturing for Gina to get him a water. She tossed him ice for his face. “Cage Wallace. Emori put a chicken heart in his locker for calling her a freak.”

“Shit, man,” Mbege laughed. “We can’t go after Cage fucking Wallace. That’s like inviting the pigs to come visit. We’ll have to let that one be. Which Jackals do you wanna fuck up?”

“Whichever,” Murphy said, taking a long drink of water. It sent a chill through his body to think of Otan’s wrath after the Snake retaliation. He and Emori had been walking a razor’s edge when it came to her brother.

“Let’s go hunt us some Jackals!” Mbege roared. A cheer went up in the bar and Murphy said, “I’ll stay here and rest up.”

“Yeah,” Mbege said, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. We’ll see you later!”

Most of the Snakes left the bar, whooping and cheering. Murphy sat down at the counter with his ice and his water and Gina raised her eyebrows at him.

“You got arrested?” she said, sounding more amused than surprised. 

“Yeah,” Murphy said, downing the rest of his water. “Fuckers arrested me while I was in my pajamas. Got beat up by some fucking Jackals. Stupid-ass lawyer told me what I already knew. It was fun.”

Gina snorted. 

“I think you’re easily the most relaxed person I’ve ever seen who’s just spent a night in jail.”

“Jail isn’t as bad as they say,” Murphy joked. “You know, they even give you your own cell if you get beat up.”

Gina rolled her eyes and went back to wiping down glasses on the other side of the bar. Murphy pushed his glass across the counter and she tossed it into the sink. The quiet murmurs of the other Snakes in the bar almost tricked Murphy into thinking that it could be a peaceful night.

The peace was shattered an hour later, when Mbege and the others returned whooping and cheering, carrying baseball bats and butterfly knives and sporting bloody knuckles.

“Found a whole group of them!” Mbege said, slapping Murphy’s shoulder. “Fucked them up  _ good _ . They won’t be messing with the Snakes for a while.” He turned around. “Drinks on me!”

Two shots of tequila were placed in front of Murphy and he found himself asking, “Which Jackals were they?”

“Shit, man, all those dicks look the same to me. But one of them had a big-ass ugly scar on his face. Right down his jaw.”

Murphy downed both shots of tequila and asked for two more.

 

* * *

 

“John,” Jaha said when Murphy walked into class the next day. “I trust you completed the homework.”

Murphy still had a headache from his massive hangover and chose to simply glare at Jaha and go to the back to sit down. Emori hadn’t been in first period either, so Murphy was in a doubly shitty mood. He slumped down in his seat, staring at the notes Emori had given him the night before, before the members of his stupid gang beat up her brother. Her graceful, looping handwriting looked like calligraphy compared to Murphy’s chicken scratch scrawl. The words began to swim on the page after a minute and Murphy swore under his breath, focusing on the board. Jaha was going on about the Ancient Egyptians. Murphy spaced out after about three minutes of listening. 

He wondered how Otan was doing. He hadn’t had the guts to go over the night before and, on top of being a coward, hadn’t wanted Emori to see him drunk. He imagined that both of them were furious. Emori hadn’t cared that he was a Snake, but now that her brother was involved, there was no way she felt the same way.

“Sorry I’m late.” 

Murphy’s head jerked up. Emori was standing at the front of the class, handing Jaha a note. She looked back at him and he knew his regret showed through his eyes because he could never hide how he was feeling, not from her. She gave him a small smile and walked back to sit next to him.

“How is he?” Murphy asked. She set her bag down, a tightness around her eyes.

“He’ll live,” was all she said. She glanced at him. “Was it you?”

“Do you really think it was?” he asked. She just looked at him, her hand clenching around her pencil. “It was the others, as retaliation for what happened to me.”

“Did you try to stop it?”

“How could I not?”

She let out a long, slow breath, nodding.

“I’ll kill them,” she said. “I’ll kill every goddamn Snake there is.”

“I’ll help you.”

 

* * *

 

Three days after he was arrested, Murphy walked into the Dropship and was greeted with the sight of the Snakes surrounding a bedsheet painted with a bloody red “J”, jeering and throwing lit matches at it until it caught fire and burned. They cheered at the burning sheet and Murphy met Gina’s eyes across the bar. For the first time ever, he saw fear in hers.

“Murphy!” Mbege shouted, raising a glass of beer at him. The other Snakes cheered and motioned for Murphy to join them around the makeshift banner. “Murphy, we scared them off for good this time!”

“Did we?” Murphy muttered, but he joined the group around the sheet. Someone tried to pass him a beer and he pushed it away, staring at the burning “J” and thinking of Otan. Emori had described the damage to him. Three broken ribs, bruising over most of his body, a broken nose, and cuts along his arms and face. He would heal, but it would take time. Six weeks for the broken bones at least. 

Murphy wished that they were his broken bones instead, if it would remove the angry, shattered look in Emori’s eyes.

A loud shout broke him out of his thoughts and he realized that the Snakes were dumping water on the flaming bedsheet. Gina was yelling about smoke and burning the bar down and somebody was dragging the charred bedsheet out of the bar.

He headed home early, buried deep in his thoughts. He froze on his front porch. 

The front door was hanging off its hinges, bricks thrown through the windows of the living room. He walked into the house with shaking hands. Picture frames containing pictures of Murphy with his parents as a kid were smashed on the ground. He walked numbly through the house. In the kitchen, drawers had been thrown open and utensils were dumped on the ground. Bottles were smashed on the floor, broken glass creating a fucked-up mosaic that Murphy could’ve sliced his hands on. He walked to his mother’s bedroom and his fists clenched at the sight of the blankets piled on the floor. They reeked of whiskey. Someone had poured an entire bottle over the pile. Her lamp was smashed on the floor where he’d found her and he turned away, bile rising in his throat. His clothes had been yanked from their drawers and strewn across the floor. His pictures of his dad had been yanked from the frames and tossed about the room along with the books from his bookshelf. He followed the path of destruction to the back porch and stopped cold, staring at the chicken-feather mobile that was hanging from the beams.

The feathers were torn and ruined, the wooden boards holding them up broken nearly in half so that it hung lopsided. A few feathers lay on the porch. 

Murphy felt himself shaking, staring at the first gift Emori ever gave him, even if she didn’t realize it, staring at the feathers that he used to run his fingers along when he missed her, staring at the feathers that he would look at every time his mother yelled at him, staring at the damage that had been done.

It was the Jackals. It had to have been. They were warning him.

He couldn’t tell the Snakes about it. They would only make it worse. 

He didn’t get much sleep that night. He started by throwing the sheets the Jackals had soaked in whiskey in the washer, hoping that the smell of alcohol would wash out. While the washer ran, he swept and mopped the kitchen. He sliced open his palm throwing away the broken glass and wrapped a piece of cloth around it for a bandage and kept going. He threw away the broken picture frames and dug an old, empty photo album out of his mom’s closet to put the photographs in. He spent about an hour carefully replacing the books on the shelf and refolding all of his clothes. His mother’s bedsheets had to go through the wash two more times before they no longer smelled of whiskey. He hung them up to dry in front of the fireplace in the living room. He put cardboard over the broken windows and carefully rehung the front door on its hinges. 

All the while he was humming with anger, as if he was the one who had been broken and thrown about his house.

He went to school the next day with dark circles under his eyes and Emori slipped her hand into his when she saw him. He could see it in her eyes.

“Were you there?” he asked.

“No. Otan was.”

“Did you know?”

“I did.”

“Did you try to stop it?”

“How could I not?”

Murphy shut his eyes and pulled his hand from hers, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms.

“When did this all get so fucked up?” he muttered. 

“I don’t know,” Emori said. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“We might have started a war,” Murphy said. “The Snakes are going to be out for more blood.”

“The Jackals are really out for blood now. They wanted to go after you first, but I’m sure it’s going to get worse.”

“Of course it is.”

“Hey.” Emori put her hands on his face. “I promise we will get through this. We’ll survive this stupid war.”

“We’re survivors,” Murphy said, unable to stop the small smile that curled his lips. “It’s what we do.” 

She smiled and for a moment Murphy almost forgot how to be sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this romeo and juliet? we just don't know


	11. Stumble and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))))))  
> nice long update!!

“Murphy!” Mbege yelled. Murphy got up, turning up his music, and walked silently to his newest victim. His knuckles were already bleeding, but he didn’t even feel the new pain when he started punching. Emori knew what he was doing, a fact that made his entire body numb. He knew that she was helping the Jackals steal supplies from the Snakes and the idea that she could be in danger made his body hum with rage. She’d given him a CD to listen to while he was with the Snakes, one filled with soft instrumentals that stilled the aching in his chest. He kept the volume loud enough to drown out the Snakes and the demons screaming in his head.

It was a Thursday night. The Snakes and the Jackals had been at war for a week, if that, and Murphy already couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone home without blood on his knuckles. He’d stopped seeing the Jackals that he was bruising and instead tried to remember Emori’s fingers on his skin, soft and gentle and loving. He tried to remember how it felt to be loved without blood on his lips and his knuckles, but those memories didn’t exist, he’d always been a broken and bloody thing -

He was being pushed away from the Jackal and cheers echoed over the swell of violins in his ears and he went to the bar and got a shot of whiskey (it was his third, or maybe his fourth) and sat down again to wait for his next victim.

He was tired; he was so damn tired, but still he was fighting. Why couldn’t he just tell the Snakes to get fucked and run as far from that stupid town as he could?

_Because you’re a coward._

“Murphy!”

He skipped to Emori’s favorite song and stood up, imagining her kissing the blood from his knuckles and tipping his head back to inhale slowly. He lowered his gaze to his newest victim and stopped cold.

Otan stared back at him, dark eyes full of rage and defiance. Murphy pulled his headphones out, looking at Mbege.

“This is one of those assholes we got after you got arrested,” Mbege said, grinning at Murphy, as if Murphy was supposed to _thank_ him, as if Murphy was supposed to be happy about Otan standing in the Dropship with a broken nose and ribs and faded bruises waiting to be bruised again. “We thought that you might want to have a go at him. We heard he took part in ransacking your house.”

Murphy stared at Otan, trying to decide what to do. If he told the Snakes that Otan was Emori’s brother, that would put Emori in danger, but he couldn’t harm Otan himself.  

“Let me talk to him alone,” he said. Mbege laughed.

“Shit, Murphy, you got some fucked-up shit planned? Alright, just don’t kill him. Everyone, out!”

Murphy waited for the door to slam shut behind him. Otan started towards him and he held his hands up.

“Hey, hey, don’t hurt me,” he said. Otan stopped a half meter away, glaring at Murphy.

“You smell like whiskey and you’ve clearly been punching for a couple of hours,” Otan growled. “Does Emori know about this?”

“Not the whiskey,” Murphy said honestly. “Though that’s more to keep myself from doing something extremely stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like telling the Snakes to go to hell.”

Otan raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe Murphy.

“Why didn’t you tell them who I was?” he asked.

“And put Emori in danger?” Murphy snorted. “I am not that stupid. They’d crucify her if they knew she was connected to the Jackals.”

“Even though she’s _yours_?”

“She’s not mine,” Murphy said. “I’m hers. But yes. They wouldn’t care.”

Otan regarded him with something that almost reached respect.

“However,” Murphy said, “I still have to do my job.”

Otan nodded slowly, his expression hardening again.

“I’ll fight back,” he warned in a low voice. Murphy smiled sadly.

“I know.”

Murphy shouted for help after a couple of hits and three Snakes had to pull Otan off of him. Mbege patted him on the back and sent him home and Murphy spat blood from his mouth and tried to remember Emori’s hands on his face as he walked out of the Dropship. He put his headphones back in. Soft piano chords calmed the boiling in his blood and he collapsed onto the couch in his house when he reached it, burying his face in a pillow.

He hated himself, plain and simple.

Emori came by and picked the lock to the front door when he didn’t answer it, settling on his lap and examining his injuries.

“Who did this to you?” she asked.

“Some random Jackal,” he lied. “They only got a few hits in. I’ll survive.”

She kissed the blood off his lips and his knuckles and told him about the things they’d stolen from the Snakes. She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and Murphy stared out the window, wondering  if there would ever be a time again when Emori kissed him and it didn’t taste like blood. He wished they could go back to kisses that tasted like watermelon candy and joy, but those days were in the past.

 _We just have to make it to graduation_ , he told himself.

But even that felt impossible.

 

* * *

 

It was Friday night. Emori had called him earlier that day and told him that she was housebound, by order of Otan. Murphy was sitting alone in his living room, staring at a bottle that was sitting on the coffee table and contemplating downing the entire thing, when someone pounded on his door. He sighed and got up. It was probably Mbege or one of the other Snakes coming to discuss the war on the Jackals-

“John.”

“Emori?”

She threw her arms around him and he stumbled back a step, surprised.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were housebound.”

“I need your help.” Murphy realized there were tears leaking into his shirt and instinctively held her tighter. “It’s Baylis, he’s going after Otan and the Snakes are all closing in and I’m scared-”

“Slow down,” Murphy said. He led Emori to the couch and sat her down, brushing her hair out of her face. She stared at him with wide, scared brown eyes and he used his thumb to push away a tear on her cheek. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

“My brother and the Snakes have a bad history, you know that. And it’s just been getting worse. I knew this gang war was going to get bad but _Baylis_ is coming after him now.”

“Baylis? You know Baylis?”

“We used to. When we were kids, we’d run odd jobs for the Snakes and the Jackals both. Back then, Baylis was just a low-level thug that paid kids like us to do his dirty work. It wasn’t exactly the best situation, but it was how Otan and I survived on the streets. He… he used to knock me around if I didn’t do something the way he asked. He called me freak, threw things, flicked lit cigarettes at me, and generally was a full-on asshole.”

Murphy’s hand clenched into a fist at his side.

“Once Otan was old enough to get a job, he got me away from Baylis. Not before he gave me this.” She pointed at the small scar on her right cheek. “As a reminder of what happens to people that betray him. That’s why my brother joined the Jackals. Protection against Baylis.”

“Why is he coming after you now?”

“I don’t know,” Emori said, her breath hitching. “I don’t know and he swore he’d kill Otan the next time he saw him. He swore he’d kill _me_.”

Murphy put his hands on either side of her face.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he said. “I’ll figure something out, okay?”

Emori nodded. Murphy pulled her into him, tucking her head into his collarbone. She was shaking like a leaf, her fingers curling into his shirt. He wanted to go to the Dropship immediately and strangle every Snake in there himself, but he’d have to find another way. He needed to get Baylis to leave Emori and her brother alone without getting in trouble with the Snakes himself.

But for the moment, he’d settle for holding Emori as tight as he could.

 

* * *

 

“Murphy,” Gina greeted him, wiping down the bar. “We’re closed, as you already know. Mbege’s upstairs right now.”

“I’m not looking for Mbege,” Murphy said, leaning on the spot she’d just wiped down. She gave him the stink eye and he ignored it. “I’m looking for Baylis.”

Gina raised one eyebrow.

“Baylis? Do you have a death wish?”

“Where is he?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“I’m the bartender. I know everyone’s secrets. If I started spilling them, this gang would be even more of a mess than it already is.”

“He’s going after someone I care about, I want him to knock it off.”

Gina raised the other eyebrow.

“You _do_ have a death wish.”

“Just tell me where he is.”

“Look, Murphy, I want to help you, I really do, but I can’t.”

“Gina.”

“Murphy.”

“Ginaaaaaa.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You’ve gone full Bellamy, haven’t you?”

Murphy’s heart stopped for a second.

“What?”

“Oh come on, you clearly forget that I dated Bellamy. I know how he thinks. And I can see you thinking the same things. What poor girl have you fallen in love with? Was it that girl you brought here a while back?”

Murphy sat down at the bar with a sigh, putting his face in his hands.

“Her name’s Emori,” he finally said. “She and her brother used to work for Baylis. Apparently he’s threatening them again.”

“You want my advice?”

“I _want_ to know where Baylis is.”

“No, you don’t. You _want_ to find Bellamy and convince him to help you.”

Murphy snorted.

“Bellamy and I were not exactly on good terms the last time we spoke. Mainly because I punched him in the face.”

“And he’ll definitely get you back for that. But he has a good heart. He’ll help you. Trust me.”

“I don’t know who I trust anymore.”

“That’s fair.” Gina started cleaning out the glasses. “But you can trust Bellamy. Emori is innocent. Even if he doesn’t like you, he’ll help her.”

Murphy sighed.

“Thanks, Gina. Quick question - where the hell is Bellamy?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a simple bartender. But I hear he and Clarke like to go to the park on Saturdays in the fall. Walk around in the sunshine.”

“You’re the best.”

“You’d all be clueless without me,” she said smugly. “By the way, and I don’t know what you did to her this time, but Raven says ‘fuck you’.”

“In her wildest dreams.” Murphy headed for the door.

“Stop antagonizing my girlfriend!”

 

* * *

 

Murphy lounged beneath a tree, watching the people walking by, waiting to see Bellamy and Clarke. After a while, he spotted the crown of golden hair belonging to Arkadia’s princess. Sure enough, she had her arm looped through Bellamy’s. Murphy stood, stretched, and made his way over to them.

“Bellamy!” he called. “Long time, no see!”

Bellamy’s head whipped around and his eyes narrowed at Murphy. He let go of Clarke’s arm. Murphy braced himself for the punch. Despite that, he still saw stars when it landed.

“I deserved that,” he said, rubbing his jaw.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, showing your face,” Bellamy growled. “You’re still a Snake.”

“I need your help.”

“You need my help? That’s rich.”

“Listen, I’m an asshole and a coward who does what he has to to save his own skin, we’ve established that, good to see you too, and it’s not just me who needs your help.”

Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m listening.”

“They made me pick off the list.”

Bellamy raised one eyebrow, then seemed to understand. He glanced at Clarke.

“You did what I did.”

“Her name’s Emori,” Murphy said. “She and her brother used to work for Baylis when they were kids, to survive. Her brother’s a Jackal now, for protection against Baylis, but apparently they’re being threatened again.”

“And you want my help in getting Baylis to leave them alone.”

“I can’t do it alone.”

“Why should I help you?”

“In my defense, I only punched you in the face because you called me a coward.”

“I called you a coward because you’re a Snake.”

“You used to be a Snake.”

“Emphasis on _used to be_.”

“Look, I’m a dick. We all know this. But Emori doesn’t deserve what Baylis will do to her. Will you please just help me this one time?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, in that voice that Murphy always thought of as her queen voice. The kind that commanded armies.

“Fine,” Bellamy said. “What do you want me to do?”

 

* * *

 

Bellamy strode into the Dropship like he owned it, his leather jacket glinting under the bar’s dim lighting. Murphy watched from his back corner. If all went according to plan, Bellamy would threaten the Snakes with the police, specifically Baylis. Bellamy had been well on his way to a leadership within the Snakes. He knew much more than the Snakes could afford the police knowing. Bellamy would play the concerned citizen, wanting the Snakes to shut the hell up and stop with the stupid war.

Murphy wouldn’t be a part of it at all.

“I’ve got an announcement to make,” Bellamy said loudly, calling the attention of the people in the bar. Murphy saw Gina glance at him and just barely shook his head. She quickly looked away. “I want to speak with Baylis right the fuck now, or I go to the police.”

Four Snakes drew knives and Bellamy calmly pulled a gun out of his jacket and held it by his side.

“Right the fuck now,” he repeated. Mbege spat on the floor and said, “This way, Your Majesty.”

Bellamy glanced at Murphy as he walked by and Murphy did his best to not react, but he could feel the eyes of other Snakes on him. He popped his headphones in and put on Emori’s favorite song to calm his jittering nerves. The plan would work. It had to.

Ten minutes later, Bellamy was being thrown out of the bar, his gun gone, and Dillan and Andy were grabbing Murphy’s upper arms and dragging him to the back room, where Mbege was waiting.

“Bellamy knew some shit that only someone who had been in the Snakes recently would,” Mbege said, and Murphy’s lungs collapsed. “Like the burning sheet and the Jackals that got their asses handed to them. So we figured we had a rat among us. But then he mentioned your house. Now, only three people knew about that one: me, you, and Baylis. And it sure as hell wasn’t me that told Bellamy.”

“Go to hell,” Murphy spat. “Baylis was going after Emori’s brother.”

“Baylis is only going after Jackals,” Mbege said. His eyes widened as realization dawned. “Emori’s brother is a Jackal?” He let out a bark of a laugh. “Which makes her a Jackal. And you wanted to protect her. You went full Bellamy.”

“Fuck you.”

"Murphy," Mbege said, shaking his head. Murphy tried to pull his arms out of Dillan and Andy's grips, but they held tight. "I can't believe you would betray the gang, and for what? The freak?"

“Call her that again and I swear to God-”

“What?” Mbege leaned forward. “What are you going to do to me?”

Murphy glared at Mbege, struggling against the two Snakes holding him back. Mbege smirked.

“Ever wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of a Snake welcome, Murphy?”

A thrill of fear ran down Murphy's spine.

“I mean, you were always the one handing them out. Why don’t we give him one?”

The room filled with ugly cheers and Murphy spat at Mbege.

“Just get it over with,” he said.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” Mbege said, curling his hand into a fist. “Maybe it will serve as a reminder to everyone else in this stupid town that the Snakes don’t fuck around.”

“Do it!” Murphy screamed, jerking forward. Mbege’s fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Murphy tasted blood and spat some out, grinning darkly at Mbege. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Mbege’s face twisted into a sick smile and Murphy braced himself for the next hit. It came faster than he expected and this time he couldn’t keep the grunt of pain inside. Mbege didn’t slow down. Murphy’s skin spit under his knuckles, his lip busting open and blood dripping down his cheek. Mbege stepped back after a minute, admiring his work. Murphy spat a little more blood onto the floor, his head ringing.

“I don’t think he quite got the message,” Mbege said. “How about you guys?”

Another chorus of jeers. Mbege got up in Murphy’s face.

“We saved your stupid ass,” he hissed. “Gave you a family. And you betrayed us for some _freak_.”

Murphy spat blood in Mbege’s face.

“Fuck you,” he said. Mbege’s fist landed in his stomach and he hunched over, dropping to one knee and wheezing.

“You’re nothing but a coward, Murphy. A coward who would do anything to save his own skin. That’s all you’ve ever been and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Mbege’s foot connected with Murphy’s side, once, twice, three times, and the wind was knocked from Murphy’s lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. He shut his eyes, remembering the torn and ruined chicken feathers hanging from his back porch. Emori’s eyes, scared and pleading. Begging him to help her.

“Let him go.”

Dillan and Andy let go of Murphy’s arms. He collapsed to the ground, coughing.

“Come back here again and we’ll kill you,” Mbege said. “Get the hell out.”

Murphy stumbled to his feet, glaring at Mbege. The Snakes booed at him as he made his way out of the bar. His house wasn’t too far away, but he wasn’t interested in empty bottles and torn chicken feathers and horrible memories. He avoided the main roads, taking back alleys and side streets towards Emori’s house. He heard chickens squawking before he saw the little green house and smiled to himself, stumbling a little.

The doorbell sang cheerfully and Murphy heard Emori call out, “I’ll be there in a moment!” He clutched his aching ribs, gritting his teeth against the pain. He wasn’t about to reveal how much it hurt, not in front of Emori. He heard footsteps behind the door and then it was thrown open. Emori’s eyes widened and she put one hand over her mouth.

“John, what happened to you?”

“The Snakes,” he said. “They found out that I tried to help your brother.” He smiled a little, which was probably not a good idea given the blood on his lips. “They didn’t take it well. Don’t worry too much. You should see the other guy’s fist.”

She reached up and set her hands on his face.

“You dumb boy,” she whispered. “I’m going to kill them.”

He shut his eyes, leaning into her touch. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and said, “Come inside. Let’s fix this.”

She led him to the kitchen and sat him down at the table, rummaging through the freezer.

“Otan is at work right now. He won’t be home until later.”

She turned around, a wet rag and some ice in her hand. She settled in Murphy’s lap and began wiping the blood off his face.

“Who did this to you?” she asked. “I need to know who to kill.”

“Mbege,” Murphy said. “Everyone wanted it. It’s what they do to traitors and to people trespassing on Snake territory. It’s what _I_ used to do.”

“I’ll kill every one of them,” Emori said softly, running her left fingers over his split lip. Her hand dropped to his waist and Murphy winced. She scowled.

“John. Take off your shirt.”

Murphy managed a smirk.

“Emori, I just got beat up. You want me now?”

She rolled her eyes at him and set aside the rag and ice.

“Arms up,” she ordered. Murphy obliged and she slid the shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side. Murphy heard her inhale sharply and her fingers ghosted along the blooming bruises. “John…”

“It looks worse than it is.”

Her fingers pressed down hard and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Liar. I swear I’ll kill them for this.”

She got up, getting an ice pack from the fridge and pulling athletic tape out of a drawer. After settling on his lap again, she pressed the ice pack to the bruises and taped it in place. She returned her attention to his face, wiping the last of the blood off. She examined his lip.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” she said. “Lucky you.”

“I am lucky,” Murphy said, though he was watching the afternoon light play across Emori’s face. She grabbed ice off the table and pressed it to his cheek, where the worst of the bruising was.

“You’ll survive,” she said with a small smile.

“I love you,” he said softly. Emori leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.

“I love you too.”

Murphy wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close despite the pain in his ribs. He buried his face in her hair, letting the tears leak out. She slid her arms around him, careful to avoid his bruises, and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked, hating how his voice shook. Emori nodded, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Of course.”

When Otan got home and saw Murphy sitting at the kitchen table with a bruised face and an ice pack taped to his side and heard Emori explain what had happened, he only said, “Who knew the Snakes’ bruiser could take it as well as he gives it out.” But he set a hand on Murphy’s shoulder on the way by, and Murphy knew Otan was finally forgiving him for being a Snake. Emori started making dinner, dropping kisses on the top of Murphy’s head every time she passed him. He just sat there and watched her, in complete awe of this amazing girl who had taken him as he was, bruises and all. Otan joined her after a few minutes, the two of them murmuring to each other over the cooking. Murphy got up every once in a while to switch out the ice packs on his face and ribs. Emori kept scowling at the purple bruises on his side every time he did.

That night, he crawled into her bed and inhaled the scent of green apple shampoo on her pillow. She shuffled around the room for another minute before she crawled in behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face between his shoulder blades.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said quietly. Murphy nodded, closing his eyes.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeated.

He slept more peacefully that night, with Emori’s arms wrapped around him and her heart thumping against his back, than he ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))))))))))))  
> i swear i don't love the angst, it loves me


	12. Snow

School was a new sort of hell now that the Snakes had banished Murphy. Snakes spit on him in the hallways and Jackals tried to jump him in the bathroom. He and Emori couldn’t stay in the lunchroom and started eating their lunches behind the bushes lest they both get ganged up on, even on the rainy and cold days. Murphy sometimes found pieces of paper with sketched serpents shoved in his locker and Emori pulled entire snakeskins from the biology classroom out of her backpack. 

“We just have to make it to Christmas,” Murphy would say to himself. “Just to Christmas. Then from Christmas to graduation. It’s only six more months after Christmas.”

All of the fear seemed to go away, though, with the first snowfall. The first snow always felt like a fresh start.

It was like being a kid again, waking up to a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. Murphy ran out to his front yard, childish glee filling his chest. Emori was running up the street, a smile stretching her cheeks. She hit him with a hug that chased away the cold and he laughed in her ear.

“It’s like Christmas came early,” she said against his shoulder. She pulled back. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

“Absolutely.”

They were late to first period, but Emori looked beautiful with snowflakes in her hair and the crooked snowman in Murphy’s front lawn was worth the reprimand from the physics teacher. 

They built another, smaller snowman in the small space behind the bushes during lunch. Very little snow had made it back into their corner, but they scraped together what had and built a tiny snowman out of it. Emori wanted to name the snowman, but Murphy refused, saying that they would get attached and then be sad when it melted. She called him a cynic and the snowman Theodore. When the bell rang for Emori to go back to class, Murphy pulled her against him and gave her a long kiss.

“See you soon,” he said. She ran her fingers through his hair and her lips quirked into a smile.

“See you soon.”

* * *

 

The first snow always felt like a fresh start. Murphy could almost forget about the living hell that he’d trapped himself in, waiting for Emori before sixth period with the memory of snow-cold kisses warming his chest - 

“You’re a sick piece of shit, you know that?”

Something slammed into his chest. He blinked and looked down to see Emori glaring at him with tears welled up in her eyes. The something that had slammed into his chest was her fist, with a piece of paper crumpled in it. Murphy’s heart plummeted.

“You picked me off a goddamn  _ list _ ,” she spat, shoving him angrily. “I was just a fucking game.”

“Emori-”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it! You’re a psychopath, just like every other Snake I’ve ever met.” She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I bet they beat you up as part of the game, didn’t they? And that’s why they came after Otan. For a stupid fucking  _ game _ .”

“That’s not-”

She threw the list in his face. 

“I hate you.”

“Emori, please-”

“Just stay the hell away from me.”

She stormed away, leaving Murphy to stand there with the crumpled-up list in his hands and the shattered pieces of his heart stabbing into his chest.

* * *

 

The first snow always felt like a fresh start. Murphy walked along the train tracks, leaving soft footprints in the snow. He remembered Emori balancing on the track, her arms stretched out for balance and one hand in his as he tried to keep her from falling. 

Even when he tried his hardest, it never mattered in the end. It never mattered how hard he tried. His past always caught up with him. The Snakes gave Emori the list. They gave her the list and the score sheet with Mbege’s notes and details that only he could have known, like the constellations and the tracks and night he took her to prom and made her dinner. They gave her the one thing that could make her stop loving him and they tore everything he had left away from him in that simple moment.

He pounded on her door, leaning against the doorframe and not bothering to hide the redness in his eyes. Otan opened it after a minute and crossed his arms over his chest, looking positively murderous.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid, showing your face here,” he said. Murphy cracked a smile.

“Very stupid sounds right,” he said. “Can I talk to Emori?”

“Fuck no.”

“Please, I just need to explain - ”

“Fuck you,” Emori said from behind Otan. She shoved her brother out of the way and Murphy almost broke down at the redness in her eyes. How long had she cried for him? He made her cry, that was unforgivable. “Fuck you and your explanations. The list and the  _ score sheet _ are pretty damn clear. You get points for acting, go on and add that to your score. You had me believing you actually cared. But everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

“Please, I do care - ”

“More lies.”

“Emori,” Murphy said, desperately and hopelessly. “Please. I love you.”

“You don’t get to come here and say that you love me,” she said, her eyes filling with new tears. “You don’t get to do that. Not after I trusted you and you fucking ruined that. You ruined everything.”

“I can explain  _ everything _ , please, just give me a chance - ”

“You could have explained everything before now. The only reason you came crawling here to  _ explain _ is because they exposed you for what you really are. A coward.”

Murphy stepped backward, the words buried in his heart like a knife. Emori’s eyes widened like she couldn’t believe what she’d said, but she didn’t take the words back. Murphy nodded and turned away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the train tracks, then into the woods, and when he was sure he was far enough away from Arkadia, he cried.

* * *

 

The first snow always felt like a fresh start. All the snow after that first snow always felt like a circle of hell. Murphy replaced the broken window in his house to keep himself from freezing to death. He got a job working at Bellamy’s construction company since the Snakes were no longer paying his bills. Christmas was a little under a month and a half away, but Murphy no longer saw it as a goal to look forward to and hope for. He saw little reason to hope at all.

(He still applied at Stanford for their early decision program.)

Bellamy had him working most afternoons after school, then would send him home to work on homework. With nothing better to do, Murphy spent his time keeping up with school, applying for scholarships, and cleaning up his mom’s old house. Everything had been left to him when she died, which made the house his. The added experience working on Bellamy’s crew allowed him to fix the problems that his mom had been neglecting for years - the leaky spot in the roof, the creaking floorboards in the living room, the window that didn’t shut right, the bathroom door that hung crooked. He washed all her old clothes and hung them in her closet like she was going to come home any minute. He got together his old clothes that didn’t fit, or that he didn’t wear anymore, and donated them to the local homeless shelter. 

“I’m proud of you, Murphy,” Bellamy said, a week before Thanksgiving. Murphy put down the hammer he was holding and turned to Bellamy.

“For what?” he asked.

“For everything,” Bellamy said. “Getting away from the Snakes, getting your house fixed up, getting your grades up. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

Murphy wanted to scream. He wanted to scream that none of it mattered because the only person left on the planet that used to love him hated him. None of it mattered because Emori thought he was a piece of trash. Emori sat on the other side of the classroom and wouldn’t meet his eyes and he was doing worse than ever because now he was alone in an empty house filled with ghosts and Emori wouldn’t even look at him - 

“Thanks.” He went back to hammering down the floorboards. 

What Bellamy didn’t know what Murphy’s secret to not falling apart. Bellamy didn’t know about the stash of whiskey that Murphy had found under the creaky floorboards in the living room. Bellamy didn’t know about the nights when Murphy would crawl into bed with one of the bottles and drown his tears in the numbness. Bellamy didn’t know that Murphy had turned out just like his mother, but at least Murphy had the decency to be alone instead of dragging a nine-year-old kid into his alcoholism the way his mother had. 

Thanksgiving was speeding closer and closer and Murphy cared less and less. It was cold outside and only the whiskey made him warm, not some cheesy family dinner. He’d ruined his Thanksgiving plans anyways when he fucked up with Emori. They had talked about spending Thanksgiving at his house, putting up ridiculous decorations and cooking chicken instead of turkey and -

Murphy squeezed his eyes shut in the middle of history, fighting hot tears. Jaha was talking about the true history of Thanksgiving, about the holiday that was built on the bones of the Native Americans. All Murphy could think was that he’d built an entire relationship with Emori on the skeleton of a lie and had the nerve to call it love. 

He’d loved her, true, but he’d lied to her. 

He hated himself, plain and simple. 

“I want your thoughts on today’s lecture in my inbox tomorrow!” Jaha was suddenly calling over the bell and the sound of students packing up. “At least half a page!”

Murphy stuck his earbuds in and grabbed his backpack. He caught a flash of Emori as she bolted from the classroom and deflated. He didn’t want to talk to her, he reminded himself. He ruined everything, he wasn’t going to let her down again by making it worse with whatever idiotic thing he would say. 

“John,” Jaha said, stepping in Murphy’s way. Murphy shifted, pulling one earbud out. “Talk with me for a minute.”

“Sure,” Murphy said. “What do you want? I did my work.”

“I’m concerned, John,” Jaha said.

“Oh, this should be good.”

“You and Emori seem to be fighting. Is something going on?”

“Emori broke up with me two weeks and three days ago,” Murphy said, proud when his voice didn’t tremble. “So, technically, nothing is going on. Have a good rest of your day.”

He couldn’t go outside for lunch anymore, because of the snow, but he didn’t want to sit in the corner by the windows that he and Emori used to sit in either. Not after he ruined it. Instead, he found a far corner of the cafeteria, behind the vending machine, and slid to the floor. Nobody would bother him back there unless their candy got stuck. In that case, he charged two bucks to get it un-stuck.

He sat there, leaning against the wall and listening to the CD that Emori had pirated for him all those weeks before. Everything had broken so quickly. One little second was all it took and she didn’t believe him anymore. One little piece of paper and she didn’t trust him anymore. One enormous lie and she didn’t love him anymore.

He hated himself, plain and simple.

Two dollar bills dropped into Murphy’s lap and he kicked the back of the vending machine until he heard the telltale  _ thunk _ of a bag of candy landing in the drop slot. He glanced up and started at the sight of Emori grabbing the candy.  _ Watermelon candy _ . His mouth watered at the memory. She met his eyes for a minute and he tried to read her expression. She quickly turned away and he dropped his eyes to the floor again, shoving himself further into the corner behind the vending machine. Emori’s two dollars were still sitting on the ground in front of him. He sighed and picked up the money. He wasn’t going to keep it.

He and Emori used to share a locker, but Murphy hadn’t touched it since the day she slammed the crumpled-up list into his chest. He found out by eavesdropping in the hallway (and a little bit of stalking) that she was now sharing a locker with Raven. He waited until he was sure neither of them were anywhere near the locker before shoving the two dollars through the door and into the locker. He walked away quickly and forced himself to think about something else, anything else. 

_ A little snowman hidden behind a hedge and a promise to not name it but her smile hits him and the snowman’s name is Theodore -  _

_ Not that. Jesus, not that _ , Murphy begged his thoughts.  _ Have mercy on me, please _ .

They did not.

The morning of Thanksgiving arrived and found Murphy kneeling on the living room floor, nailing down the creaky floorboards that he’d found tequila under. He wondered how his mom had made so many little stashes of alcohol around the house. How many creaky floorboards hid their shared weakness? 

He wanted to work that day, seeing no point in staying home alone all day, but Bellamy flat-out refused to give him any jobs on Thanksgiving. He even went as far as to invite Murphy to Thanksgiving with him and Clarke. They’d moved in together.  _ Good for them _ . Murphy declined the invitation and made up a family member that was coming to town to visit. In reality, he made himself soup out of a can and drank a shot of tequila for the Native Americans that died at the colonists’ hands just so that he could sit alone in an empty house and give thanks for everything he’d lost. 

What a pointless fucking holiday. 

* * *

 

_ “I love you.” _

_ “I love you too,” she says, and she’s got her arms around him and she’s smiling and they’re safe, they’re safe, they’re happy, they’re finally at peace -  _

Murphy sat up in bed with tears streaming down his face. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms and got up. The clock on the wall read 3:25. He sighed and headed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. A bottle of whiskey that he didn’t remember putting there was sitting on the counter. He took a long chug and went back to bed, collapsing on the blankets. Once or twice Emori slept in that bed. He still remembered what it felt like when she curled up against him, how easily she fit into him. He still remembered putting her left hand, the badass one, on his chest and watching as her eyes widened and he wished he could say the words. 

He should have told her he loved her. He should have told her every single day from that first afternoon when he kissed her in the back of the movie theater and they walked home along the train tracks. He should have told her every single night that they spent together when she curled up against him and he felt her heartbeat mingling with his. He should have told her he loved her every other breath. 

_ I love her _ .

His mother’s voice in the back of his head whispered,  _ you don’t. You’re incapable of love, John. If you were, you would have saved me _ .

He squeezed his eyes shut and took another chug from the bottle of whiskey on the bedside table to get her to shut up. Graduation. After graduation, he would be fine. He would get the hell out of Arkadia, get away from his ghosts. Maybe he’d even remember how to be happy again.

Ha. What an amusing thought. Him, happy? Unrealistic.

* * *

 

The first week of December started with snow so thick that Murphy couldn’t open the front door of his house. He went out the back door with a shovel and climbed onto the roof, knowing from an unfortunate incident from when he was six that enough snow piled up could collapse the roof. He spent almost an hour shoveling the snow off the roof and then another hour shoveling himself a path to the street. The house landline hadn’t rung to inform him that school was canceled, so he put together his backpack and set off. The snow wasn’t still falling and the main roads had been plowed, so Murphy took both as a good sign. 

He got to school right as the bell signaling the beginning of third period rang and headed straight for Jaha’s class. He would explain to the office ladies the situation at home and hopefully they would be nice to him about his inability to get to school on time. 

He jogged down the hall to Jaha’s classroom. He could see through the window on the door that Jaha had already begun talking. He steeled himself for a minute before pulling the door open, hoping that Jaha would ignore his entrance. He stepped into the classroom and Jaha fell silent, turning to face him. Murphy flinched internally, beginning to slink to his seat.

“John,” Jaha said. Murphy froze. “Care to explain why you are late to my class?”

Murphy raised his eyes from the floor and briefly met Emori’s. A flash of softness before her gaze hardened. He looked away, at Jaha. 

“I couldn’t get my front door open,” he said. “Because of the snow. And the piled-up snow will collapse the roof of my house if it isn’t shoveled off. So I spent two hours taking care of those two situations.”

“Alright, have a seat,” Jaha said, seeming satisfied with that answer. Murphy slid into his seat and reveled in the simple pleasure of sitting after the hard work of shoveling snow. Jaha went into his lesson with his usual vigor and a mug of tea in his hand. Murphy tried not to look too bored as the class dragged on. They were nearing the end of the class when the lights went out.

“What the fuck?” Murphy muttered under his breath. 

“Okay, everybody, stay calm,” Jaha called. The class of bored seniors just asked each other if anyone knew what was going on. Instinctively, Murphy sought out Emori. She was borrowing Fox’s phone, probably to call her brother. 

The bells didn’t ring and Jaha refused to let anyone leave the class before they knew what was going on. He turned on a few battery-powered lamps around the classroom to aid the sunlight struggling through the window. After about twenty minutes, one of the administrators entered the classroom.

“We’ve been hit by a blizzard,” the woman said, folding her hands in front of her. “It’s knocked out power, but we are getting the generators going. However, the roads are impassable, so the students will need to stay here until the situation changes. Thank you.”

She left, despite the cries and complaints of the class. Jaha got everyone to calm down after a few minutes. 

“We’re going to wait to hear what’s going to happen,” he said. “Until then, find something to do to entertain yourselves.”

Murphy popped in his headphones and put on the CD that he’d been listening to non-stop since the afternoon that Emori left the list in his hands. After about two songs, the lights came back on and the class sighed in collective relief. 

“Attention, students,” the principal’s voice said over the PA. “We have an important announcement to make. As you are all already aware, Arkadia has been hit by a blizzard. The school authorities have made contact with local police and other emergency forces, and they want Ark High to go into full lockdown mode until the storm passes. Weather officials predict that it will clear up enough for the roads to be safe by tomorrow afternoon. Until then, each classroom is equipped for this sort of emergency. School policy is that you remain in your classrooms until the lockdown is lifted. The cafeteria staff will be coming by in the next twenty minutes or so to distribute lunch. Thank you all for your patience and cooperation.”

Murphy groaned, along with most of the class. They were all going to be stuck with each other for a good twenty-four hours. What a joy. 

Jaha produced a few board games from one of his cabinets and four decks of cards for the students. The desks were all shoved against the walls and everyone sat on the floor, playing one of the board games or playing cards. One of the lunch ladies stopped by with a tray of hot lunches. Murphy took one gratefully, smiling at the lunch lady before retreating to the corner he’d claimed as his own. He peeled back the lid of the soup and stuck the spoon in, delighted to find that it was  _ not _ , as he suspected, a watery mess, but thick vegetable soup. He ate it quickly and threw away the empty carton. As he was heading back to his corner, he ran into Emori.

_ Figures that I would get stuck in a classroom with Emori in it. _

The class was a small one, so interacting with her at some point was inevitable. He just had to suck it up and deal with it.

“Hey,” he said. She fixed her eyes on his chest. “Sorry for running into you.”

“It’s fine,” she said, stepping around him and tossing her empty soup carton in the garbage. He swallowed and went back to his corner, popping his headphones back in. 

The hours were long, stuck in a classroom with sixteen other teenagers and a girl that hated him. The lunch lady came by again around seven with more soup and some chicken for dinner and Jaha passed out thermal blankets from the emergency kit that each classroom was equipped for. Murphy, solely because he was going out of his mind with boredom, asked Jaha why Ark High had emergency kits like that and seemed so prepared for a lockdown of that kind. This launched Jaha into a long-winded story about the blizzard of 1995, when the students were trapped in the school for nearly three days. Murphy’s eyes glazed over almost immediately, along with the rest of the students.

The lights went out around ten and Jaha assured everyone that the heat was still on. 

“Just try to get comfortable,” he said. “I suggest sleeping close to someone else to keep just a tad bit warmer.”

Murphy stayed on the edge of the group. Nobody was going to sleep close to him. He used his backpack as a pillow and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” a painfully familiar voice said. Murphy turned his head and there she was, sitting down next to him. He chanced a smile that she didn’t return. “You’re not trying to freeze to death, are you?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Murphy said, tilting his head. “Are you?”

“No.” She scooted a bit closer. “You’re like a human furnace. I just want to stay warm.”

“Understood,” Murphy said. She scooted within ten centimeters and turned her back to him, pulling her thermal blanket up over herself. 

“Goodnight, John,” he heard her say softly.

“Goodnight, Emori,” he replied, shutting his eyes.

Thank God for blizzards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everybody's still breathing! this fic is now 101 pages on its google doc and hoo boy does that take a long time to load.  
> i just want to say that i have been planning this chapter and this part of the story since i started writing the fic, so the writers separating memori in the beginning of season 5? plagiarism.


	13. Break

The morning found Emori tucked into Murphy’s chest, her face pressed into his heartbeat. He woke slowly, and for a second, he thought that everything had been a horrible dream. Then he became aware of how much she was shivering, the backpack he was using as a pillow, the thermal blankets tucked around them both, and the whispers of the other students in the class as they woke up and wondered what had happened to the heat.

Murphy removed his thermal blanket and wrapped it around Emori instead. Her shivering lessened and he carefully detangled himself from her, knowing that she was a heavy sleeper when she was cold. He stood up and pulled his extra jacket out of his backpack, letting Jaha know where he was going before he opened the door and jogged down the hallway to the bathroom. He saw the lunch lady making her way down the hall with a cart of what looked like pancakes and waved at her. She waved back with a smile.

The bathroom was freezing, leaving Murphy to do his business quickly and wonder what had happened to the heat while he washed his hands in icy water. 

“Look who dragged himself out of the gutter,” a sneering voice said behind him. Murphy sighed, shaking the water off his hands. 

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said, turning around to face Mbege. “I’m just trying to take a piss in peace. Is that against the Snake laws?”

“You broke the Snake laws,” Mbege said. “You should be on your knees.”

“Sorry, I bruised them,” Murphy replied, his eyes flicking to Mbege’s left and right. “It hurts to kneel. Maybe next week.” Mbege was alone. Good. Murphy could take him, if it came down to that.

“Coward,” Mbege said, stepping closer. Murphy started to edge around him, trying to get to the door. “You’re just a coward. I heard Emori figured that out as well.”

This stopped Murphy in his tracks and instead of trying to go around Mbege, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go  _ through _ him. 

“You don’t get to say her fucking name,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Oooh, I’m sooo scared,” Mbege laughed. “What are you going to do to me, Murphy? Huh? I know all your tricks.”

Murphy’s hand clenched into a fist, but before he could swing it, his head snapped back as Mbege’s fist connected with his eye. Pain bloomed around his eye socket and he let out a small grunt of pain, his hands going up to the throbbing bruise.

“Just walk out into the storm,” Mbege sneered. “Nobody will miss you when you freeze to death.”

Murphy glared at him and shoved past him, figuring that starting a full-on fight was not the way to go. Plus, he was already having trouble seeing out the eye that Mbege had blackened.

Jaha shot him a disappointed look when he walked back into the classroom, but Murphy couldn’t find it in himself to care. He sat down in the back corner of the class, pressing the bruised part of his face to the cool metal of the shelving unit. It made the ache feel better. Emori was still sleeping, wrapped up in the two blankets. He watched her sleep for a few minutes, noting the way her expression shifted subtly and her fingers twitched. 

The lunch lady came by with pancakes for the class, but Murphy didn’t move from his post in the corner, watching Emori sleep and shifting his head every few minutes so that his bruise rested on cool metal. One of their classmates tapped her shoulder to wake her up. Murphy watched as in the first few seconds of being awake, she reached out to where he had been the night before and blinked, confused when the space was empty. Another second later, she stood up and smiled at the classmate that had woken her up and got breakfast from the lunch lady. Murphy shut his eyes and wished that he could have stayed in those first few moments after waking up, Emori nestled into his chest and the world feeling right for the first time in weeks. 

The morning progressed in the same way the day before had. Students sat around playing board games and card games and talked about if the test in Griffin’s class was really as hard as she was making it out to be. Around noon, one of the administrators returned to the classroom. 

“The storm is not receding the way the weather experts predicted,” the woman said, dark circles under her eyes. “The generator failed overnight and we got it working again this morning. They’re discussing attempting to deliver supplies to us when the snowfall lightens, but for now, we are to stay in lockdown mode until we’re told that it’s safe to leave.”

The class broke out into complaints, but the administrator just left. Jaha suggested putting on a film and this quieted everyone down. The class voted on  _ Troy _ and Jaha agreed (reluctantly) to not censor the more….adult portions of the film. Murphy stayed in his back corner, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach when he realized that he hadn’t eaten since the day before. 

About halfway through the film, as Murphy was beginning to doze off, someone crouched down in front of him. His eyes shot open and he went to defend himself, only to find that it was just Emori, setting something down in front of him (without looking at him) before rejoining the students still watching the film. He frowned and looked at what she’d brought. It was an icicle in a plastic baggy, wrapped in a couple of paper towels. He put it to his bruised eye and wished that he was less of an idiot.

He didn’t eat dinner, either, opting instead to pretend to be asleep while his classmates ate. The class watched another film after dinner, then, when the lights went out, quieted down quickly. Murphy moved back to his spot from the night before. He had been lying there for a minute when Emori sat down next to him.

“How is your eye?” she asked.

“Thank you for the icicle,” he said quietly. 

“You didn’t eat.”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just laid down next to him with her thermal blanket. Murphy stared up at the ceiling, wishing that he could see the constellations that laid beyond. He wished that they were laying under a different sky, in a different time, with grass in her hair and a beautiful red dress that made her look like a goddess and a warmth in his heart and her hand in his. 

She curled up next to him and he shut his eyes, listening to her breathe. After a few minutes, her breaths were deep and slow and he knew she was asleep. A few more minutes later, she rolled over in her sleep and tucked herself into his chest, shivering violently. She always got cold so easily. Hot tears crept down his cheeks and he pulled his thermal blanket over her. Her shivering eased and he tried to fall asleep, but the combination of the cold and the girl curled against him made it impossible to drift off. 

He was still awake when the lights came back on at seven that morning. He gently detangled himself from Emori, making sure that the thermal blankets were tucked around her so that she wouldn’t get cold. He jogged down the hall to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and examined the bruise around his eye. It was already yellowing and fading. Mbege always had a bit of a weak punch. Murphy dried off his face and headed back to Jaha’s class. He reached the classroom at the same time as the lunch lady and held the door open for her. She thanked him with a pat on the shoulder and he slipped in after her, heading for his back corner.

“John,” Jaha said. “Come here a minute.”

Murphy suppressed a groan and walked over to Jaha’s desk.

“It looks like we’ll be here another day at least,” Jaha said grimly. “The storm has not let up at all. While we’re stuck here, I thought I could get some work done. Since you’ve been sitting in the back, brooding no doubt, I figured you would want something to do as well.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you,” Murphy said sarcastically. “But I’m good.”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking,” Jaha said, his eyes twinkling. He handed Murphy a stack of tests. “The answer key is on top.” He placed a red pen on top of the stack. “Remember to eat today. You’re more susceptible to hypothermia if you don’t.”

“Thanks, Doctor Jaha,” Murphy muttered, but on the inside, he was grateful.

The first tests that Jaha gave him to grade were multiple choice, so Murphy graded them quickly. He was delighted to find that he’d gotten a B+ on his test and returned the stack to Jaha with a smile. Jaha smiled right back and handed him a stack of worksheets and a handwritten note containing instructions on the grading. Murphy sat down at one of the desks and started looking over the first worksheet, wrinkling his nose at the bullshit that the person had written down. When the lunch lady came by with chicken noodle soup for lunch, Murphy wanted to pass, but the stern look from Jaha led him to accepting a bowl. He ate it quickly, trying not to think about the memories that the taste brought back.

He was grading papers for most of the afternoon, even as his eyelids drooped and his sleepless night caught up with him. Jaha cut him off at dinner, saying, “We’re watching another film. Take a break.” Murphy retreated to his back corner and watched Emori laughing at the romantic comedy that Jaha put on. When the lights went out, she again laid down close to him, but said nothing. He fell asleep quickly, his exhaustion finally catching up with him.

_ “I hate you.” The list hits his face and he wants to take it all back, to go back to the summer of kisses and flower crowns and  _ peace  _ but it’s too late, she’s seen the ugly side of him and the side that lied and now she knows the truth and now she hates him - _

Murphy’s eyes flew open and he pushed Emori away from him, struggling to draw in breaths. The lights were already on. Emori sat up, scowling at him.

“What the hell?” she demanded. “You shoved me!”

“You were cuddling up,” Murphy shot back. “You’re the one that said you wanted to stay away from me. I was helping you out.”

As the anxiety attack receded a little, Murphy’s brain told him to start doing damage control. He tried to slow his breathing and got to his feet. Around them, the class was putting away blankets and chatting about the storm and how they hoped it was clearing up. They were on day four and everyone was itching to get out of the school. Murphy was just glad there was a locker room with showers that still worked, even if the water was freezing cold.

“Why are you such a dick?” Emori asked. Murphy froze, turning to look at her. She was glaring at him. “Do you even have a reason?”

“Do I need one?” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how they shook.

“I would say so,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re too much of an asshole to not have a reason.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t,” she spat. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly.

“Save it for somebody who doesn’t know you!” she shouted. “At least tell  _ me  _ the truth!”

“What truth do you want to hear?” he demanded. 

“The truth about the list!”

“There’s no truth to tell that I haven’t already tried to explain!” 

“That’s another goddamn lie! All you ever did was lie!”

“I get the feeling that you already know what you want me to say!” Murphy shouted back, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Then say it!” she screamed, tears in her eyes. “Say it, you  _ coward _ !”

The word drove a shard of ice through his heart and he screamed back, losing all notions of damage control.

“Fine, you want me to say it? I don’t love you! I never did!”

She shut her mouth, staring at him with angry tears streaming down her cheeks. He stared back, his chest heaving under the weight of the words he’d thrown at her like knives. 

“Are you happy now?” he asked quietly. 

“Fuck you,” she spat, turning away from him and swiping at her eyes. Murphy realized that their classmates were staring at them and swore, ignoring Jaha’s halfhearted “John.” He left the classroom, heading for the locker rooms. He picked the shower stall furthest from the door and stripped off his clothes, turning on the water. It was freezing cold, but he was so beyond caring that he stood under the spray for a full minute before he picked up the soap. 

He scrubbed his skin raw under the icy water, trying to pretend that the tears streaming down his face weren’t there. He’d finally gone and done it. It was ruined. There was no coming back from that fallout. When he was sure he’d scrubbed away any trace of the person he used to be, he shut off the water and dried himself off. He was relieved to find his clothes right where he’d left them and got dressed, thinking about the papers he would grade that day. Maybe Jaha would give him the finals from the junior classes. 

He entered the classroom in his usual way, slinking along the wall to the back. He didn’t lift his eyes from the floor and slumped into a desk. Jaha set a stack of tests (the finals from the junior classes) on the desk along with a red pen, then set his hand on Murphy’s shoulder. Murphy inhaled sharply and the hand was removed. He waited until Jaha’s footsteps retreated to the other side of the classroom before picking up the pen and starting to correct the tests. He sensed a group of the girls in the class huddled around Emori and tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt, that he hadn’t just cried his eyes out over his own stupidity, but it was hard when she was sitting right there and the words he’d thrown at her were still hanging in the air.

At noon, the principal informed them over the PA system that the storm had cleared enough for them to go home. Murphy finished grading the stack of quizzes he’d been working on as the rest of the class filed out, chattering excitedly about what they were going to do when they got home. Murphy dropped the finished stack of quizzes on Jaha’s desk and left without another word.

The roof was creaking under the weight of the snow on it, but it hadn’t collapsed as Murphy had predicted. He got up on top and knocked the snow off, then climbed down and started shoveling himself a path. The mail truck pulled up just as he reached the street.

“John Murphy?” the mailman asked, peering out the side of the truck. Murphy leaned on his shovel, grateful for the muscles working on Bellamy’s crew had given him.

“That’s me,” he said tiredly. The mailman held out a stack of mail. 

“Sorry it’s late,” he said. “The roads have been closed for days.”

“Yeah, I know,” Murphy muttered, taking the stack of mail. The mailman drove off and Murphy headed back inside. He set the shovel down by the front door and picked out a bottle of whiskey off the counter, sitting down at the kitchen table to sort through the mail. He set aside the coupons for when he next went grocery shopping and tossed the bills in a pile. At the bottom of the stack was an official-looking letter addressed to John Murphy, from Stanford University.

He opened the envelope with shaking hands and scanned its contents. He read the sentences of the letter without really understanding a word, phrases jumping out at him.  _ Academically acceptable...show great potential...pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the undergraduate program. _

Murphy set aside the letter and looked at the other papers. One was a financial aid award. He skipped the lengthy paragraph of introductory bullshit and looked at the numbers. He blinked and looked at them again. He did a bit of slow math in his head before he realized that they had given him a full scholarship. He read through the introductory paragraph, then looked at the numbers again. They were still the same.

“This can’t be right,” he muttered, checking the envelope. It was addressed to him. A bubble began to expand in his chest. He’d been accepted to Stanford. He’d been accepted to Stanford and they were giving him a full scholarship. He started laughing, clutching the letter to his heart. He’d been accepted to Stanford! The ridiculous dream he and Emori had whispered to each other that night in her bed was coming true before his eyes -

Just as quickly as it had brought him up, it all came crashing down. Stanford had been for the two of them. California, hope - it had been for Murphy and Emori, Arkadia’s own Romeo and Juliet. Those two people didn’t exist anymore. 

He curled in on himself, the letter crumpled against his chest as he sobbed, mourning the shattered pieces of the escape that he’d almost reached.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the following Monday that school was called back into session. Murphy walked to school and slumped in his seat in first-period physics, the crushed acceptance letter buried in his pocket. He’d been sitting there for two minutes (exactly; he’d been counting seconds to pass the time) when the door was flung open and Emori ran in, waving a familiar-looking piece of paper at the physics teacher. 

“I got in!” was all she said, and Murphy sank further into his seat, thinking about the road trip they had planned across the country and how he would never see her with her feet on the dashboard, grinning at him as they drove further and further away from the little town that had chewed them up and spit them out. 

She sat down in her usual seat (seven feet away from him; he’d measured it a while back), with the acceptance letter sitting on her desk. Murphy pulled the wadded-up letter from his pocket and tossed it at the side of her head. It hit her shoulder and landed on the desk. She frowned at it and opened it up, then glanced over at him. The second she looked at him, Murphy dropped his gaze to the desk in front of him. A minute later, his letter hit him in the head and dropped into his lap.

All he could do was stare at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm i wish i could say i'm happy with this chapter but it's kinda transitional so!! here i am!! disappointed!!  
> don't worry, there are clear skies ahead. eventually.


	14. Charlotte

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair, scowling at the pile of supplies lying in the street. 

“What the hell, man?” one of the guys on the crew shouted at him. “We’re already behind schedule!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your truck is a piece of shit!” Murphy shouted back, gesturing at the broken tailgate. “Hit a tiny-ass bump and the tailgate breaks open, that’s not my fault!”

“Just get it cleaned up,” Bellamy said, running a hand down the side of his face. “We can still get today’s work done.”

“Bellamy, Murphy-”

“Shut the hell up about what Murphy did or didn’t do,” Bellamy snapped at the other man. “I’m sick of your whining. Clean up the supplies and fix your shitty truck and let’s get back on the road.”

Bellamy had been in a bad mood all day, but Murphy was grateful that it was in his favor in that one situation. The other man from the crew glared at him, but he started to help clean up the pile of supplies. Thankfully, nothing had broken. Bellamy shouted at the rest of the crew to get back on the road and they packed up the other trucks that had stopped. Murphy used a bungee cord to tie down the supplies and a second one to hold the broken tailgate in place. Finally, he nodded at Bellamy.

“We’re all good here,” he said. Bellamy nodded and swirled a hand through the air.

“That’s a wrap, assholes!” he shouted. “Let’s get on the road! We’ve got shit to do!”

Murphy climbed into the cab of the truck and the other guy from the crew (Murphy thought his name was Atom, but he didn’t really care that much) got into the passenger side. Murphy followed Bellamy’s truck towards Main Street. They had a big job working on the courthouse, the biggest that they’d had all winter. Now that the blizzard had cleared and it was the normal amount of snow on the ground, Bellamy’s crew could get back to work.

They were less than two weeks out from Christmas. Murphy tried not to think about it too much.

They were ushered to the work site by a court clerk and told to keep the noise to a minimum despite it being a Sunday with no court in session to speak of. Bellamy scowled at this instruction and Murphy snorted but said nothing. 

They’d been working for an hour when Murphy heard a shout from outside. 

“I’m going to go check that out,” he said to Bellamy, who was squinting at the soldering work that Atom had done. Bellamy made a noncommittal noise. Murphy took it as an acknowledgment and left. A small crowd was gathered around the tattoo parlor, looking up at the roof. Murphy looked up with them and his heart stalled out.

A little girl was standing on the edge of the roof, staring down at the ground as if contemplating how far the jump was. 

“Honey, come down from there!” someone in the small crowd shouted. “You’re going to hurt yourself!” 

Murphy’s feet moved before he knew what he was doing and he found himself climbing the fire escape. He knew the way well - he used to climb up to the roof of the tattoo parlor to smoke a joint on nights when his mom wasn’t friendly enough to be in the same building as him. He crept up onto the roof. The girl hadn’t noticed him yet. Upon closer inspection, she wasn’t as little as she’d looked from the ground, maybe eleven or twelve, but she was stick-thin. 

“I’m gonna do it,” he heard her say to herself, like a promise. “I’m gonna see them.”

He crept closer and put a finger to his lips in case anyone from the crowd below saw him. He didn’t want them tipping the girl off to his presence. She might jump if they did. 

He was only a meter and a half away from her when she leaned over the edge and screams echoed from the crowd below. He lunged and caught her arm, yanking her away from the edge before she could fall. She screamed and he pulled her further from the edge of the roof.

“Let me jump!” she screamed, beating at him with her fists. Tears were beginning to pour down her cheeks. “Let me jump, I want to jump!” 

“No, you don’t,” Murphy said, pinning her arms to her sides. “No, you don’t.”

The police arrived quickly and the owners of the tattoo parlor opened the roof access door so that Murphy could lead the girl down to the street level. She was quiet then, crying silently. He kept a tight grip on her arm until it was clear that she wasn’t going to bolt.

“You did a good thing,” one of the cops said to Murphy. He turned to the girl. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Charlotte,” the girl said. She was eyeing the cops distrustfully and staying close to Murphy’s side. The cop smiled at her, clearly trying to make her more comfortable with him.

“Where are your parents, Charlotte?” 

“They’re dead,” she spat. “And I should be too.”

“No, you shouldn’t, you little idiot,” Murphy said. She shoved his arm and shouted, “What the hell do you know about it, you asshole!”

“Both of you calm down,” the cop said. Charlotte calmed but didn’t budge from Murphy’s side. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Charlotte, why don’t you go have a seat over there.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Murphy asked once Charlotte was seated in one of the chairs scattered around the tattoo parlor with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate in her hands.

“She’ll be put in a group home, probably,” the cop said, scribbling in his notepad. Murphy began to get the nagging suspicion that the cop didn’t care. “She’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about her.”

“I’ve seen what happens to orphans in this town,” Murphy said. “I’ve been one. I’m worried about her.”

The cop glanced up at him, annoyed.

“Listen, kid, you’re already a hero for saving her from the roof. Don’t try to make your fifteen minutes of fame last for thirty.”

“I’m not a hero,” Murphy growled, stepping closer to the man. “I’m just trying to make sure that she doesn’t end up in a shitty situation that’s easily preventable.”

“Fine, you wanna make sure she doesn’t end up in a shitty situation? Apply for custody, see how that goes,” the cop snapped. “Until then, get out of my face.”

Murphy flipped off the cop when he turned his back and walked over to where Charlotte was staring blankly into her hot chocolate. He sat down heavily next to her.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “I’m sorry for calling you an idiot.”

“I’m sorry for calling you an asshole,” she said to her mug. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “You weren’t wrong.”

She cracked a smile at that and he smiled back at her.

“You got any family?” The smile immediately dropped off.

“No.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“A car accident,” she said. “A drunk cop rammed into us and we went into a ditch. I lived. They didn’t.”

Murphy lowered his gaze to the ground. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t still feel bad for you.”

Charlotte glanced up from her hot chocolate to study him but said nothing.

“Where have you been staying?” Murphy asked. 

“The park on Third. There’s a covered bench by the biggest oak tree.”

Murphy was familiar with it. He’d slept there a few times himself.

“Do you want a less shitty place to stay?” he found himself asking. Charlotte nodded and he said, “If you want, you can stay with me.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Murphy.”

She took his hand and asked if it was legal for her to stay with him. 

“I don’t think the cops care,” he said honestly. “They’ve got bigger fish to fry than an orphan. Trust me, I know.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said, and Murphy wondered why he offered to let her stay with him and why she would trust him enough to say yes. 

“I have to go back to work,” Murphy told her. “The cops are gonna take you to the station. I’ll pick you up after work, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” Murphy asked. Charlotte shrugged, sipping her hot chocolate. 

“For pulling me away from the edge.”

“No problem,” Murphy replied, getting to his feet. “Try not to jump off any more roofs until I come to get you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

Murphy nodded at the rude cop on his way out and headed across the street to the courthouse, dodging the people who thanked and congratulated and questioned him. Bellamy was standing in the doorway of the courthouse, his arms crossed over his chest. Murphy stopped in front of him, sighing and sticking his hands in his pockets. Bellamy’s bad mood was going to fuck him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I’ve been gone, but-”

“You saved a little girl’s life,” Bellamy interrupted. Murphy blinked.

“You saw that?”

“Didn’t have to,” Bellamy said. “The court clerks gossip loudly.”

Murphy rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just pulled her away from the edge,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m proud of you, Murphy,” Bellamy said, patting Murphy’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Murphy’s mind was occupied for the rest of the workday. He kept thinking about Charlotte, punching him and screaming that she wanted to jump. He’d been in a place like that before. It wasn’t the sort of place an eleven-year-old should have been. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to offer to let her stay with him. It had just felt right. He wasn’t sure what had possessed her to accept his offer. Maybe her parents had never taught her stranger danger.

Bellamy noticed that Murphy’s head wasn’t in the game and sent him home early, telling him to get some rest. Murphy headed for the police station. As he predicted, Charlotte was sitting in the lobby, with the same blanket around her shoulders and a different mug of hot chocolate in her hands. A small suitcase and a battered backpack sat on the floor next to her.

“Come on, kid,” he said to her. “Let’s go.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” the cop from earlier demanded, walking up. Murphy regarded him coolly. 

“Taking Charlotte home,” he said. “Why? Do you suddenly care?”

“Charlotte isn’t your responsibility,” the cop said, irritated. “She’s a ward of the state.”

“How long has it been since the accident?” Murphy asked Charlotte. She screwed up her face, thinking.

“Three months?”

“She’s been a ward of the state for three months,” Murphy said. “And yet, she’s been sleeping on a park bench. I seriously doubt the state gives two shits.”

“You have no legal right to be her guardian.”

“Charlotte, it’s up to you,” Murphy said to her. “You don’t have to stay with me just because I pulled you away from the edge. But I’ve been where you are, and these assholes are not going to help you.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. She glared up at the cop. “I’m going with Murphy.”

The cop threw his hands up.

“Fine. I don’t care. File for custody. See if I give a damn.”

“I already see that you don’t,” Murphy shot back. He picked up Charlotte’s suitcase and led her out of the police station. She slipped her hand into his and he glanced down at her, startled.

“You’re the first person that’s been nice to me since my mom and dad died,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “But don’t get used to it. I meant it when I said I was an asshole.”

She laughed and he realized for a second that for an entire day, Emori had been pushed from his mind.

 

* * *

 

Murphy set Charlotte up in his mom’s bedroom. He took his mom’s old clothes from the closet and drawers and put them in boxes that he shoved under the bed.

“Use the drawers and the closet if you want,” he said. She set her tiny suitcase on the bed and looked around with wide eyes. “The bathroom is across the hall and my room is next door. You saw the kitchen when you came in. There’s food in the fridge. I assume that you go to school?”

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes darting to her battered backpack. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll wake you up in the morning for school and make breakfast,” Murphy said. “I have to leave for school before you do, so you’re responsible for getting yourself there, okay?”

She nodded. 

“Good.” He handed her a knife. “I get that I’m still new to you. I get it if you don’t trust me. Keep that under your pillow. My feelings won’t be hurt.”

Charlotte took the knife and tucked it under the pillow.

“Just don’t take it to school with you,” Murphy said. “You keep your nose clean, okay? No detention or any shit like that.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Is there a shower?”

“No, I bathe in the river like a heathen,” Murphy said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes at him, but visibly relaxed. He showed her the shower and removed all sharp objects from the bathroom. She shut and locked the door and he sat outside, waiting for her to be finished and listening for any sign of trouble. She emerged a half an hour later, cleaner and exhausted-looking.

“I’m going to go to bed,” she announced to him. He had a quick realization and took the knife out from under her pillow.

“No temptations,” he said to her. “Not this soon after.”

She gave him a sad look but didn’t argue. Soon, she was curled up on her side in the bed, snoring softly. He shut the door quietly and went to his own room, staring at the ceiling in the dark for a while before rolling over and going to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Get up, kiddo,” Murphy said, flipping on the lights. Charlotte groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. He stifled a laugh and said, “Come on, kiddo. Time to get up, I made eggs and bacon for breakfast.”

“Five more minutes.”

“In five more minutes, the eggs and bacon will be cold. Get up.”

She rolled out of bed, giving him a glare, and shuffled after him towards the kitchen. He was still in his pajamas. She glared at the clock.

“It’s too early to be awake.”

“You have school in two hours, but I have school in half an hour. It’s not my fault you’re still in elementary school.”

She seemed to accept this as an answer and sat at the kitchen table. Murphy scooped some eggs out of one frying pan and plucked two pieces of still-sizzling bacon out of the other. He set them in front of Charlotte, who scarfed them down so quickly that it made him wonder when the last time she ate had been. He sat down in the other chair at the table and ate his breakfast. She got up and took the rest of the eggs and bacon from the stove and ate them with the same vigor as the first plate. Murphy chose not to comment and directed her to where she should put the dirty dishes. She sat down at the table when she had put them where he instructed and eyed him a little warily.

“Alright, kid, I have to leave for school in half an hour and I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, so you’re going to come to school with me.”

Charlotte nodded and didn’t argue. Murphy was taken aback by this. 

“You’ll sit in the office during my first few classes. The elementary school is right next door, so when you need to leave, you go straight to school, no bullshit, okay?”

“No bullshit,” she agreed. Murphy smiled.

“Good. When you get out of school, I’ll meet you by the cherry tree by the sign. You know where that is?” She nodded. “Good. I’ll meet you there and we’ll walk home. Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Go get ready for school. Get dressed and brush your teeth and shit.”

She got up and went obediently to the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in filthy jeans and an equally filthy sweatshirt. Murphy ran his fingers through his hair and contemplated what she was wearing.

“That’s not gonna work,” he said. He went to his room and grabbed an old flannel that barely fit him and a sweatshirt. “Here, put these on. We’ll wash your jeans after school, okay? Where are the rest of your clothes?”

He dumped it all in the washer while she stood in the doorway of the laundry room, fiddling with the long sleeves of his sweatshirt. 

“Why does this smell like green apples?” she asked him after a second. He froze, halfway through dumping fabric softener in the wash, and quickly pulled his hand back before he emptied the bottle. A quick glance back told him that it was the sweatshirt that Emori always stole. She’d returned it to him two days after breaking up with him by shoving it into his backpack. He swallowed, turning back to the laundry.

“My ex-girlfriend,” he said. “She wore it all the time. Her shampoo smelled like green apples. If you don’t like it, I can wash it and you can have a different one.”

“No, it’s okay,” Charlotte said. “I don’t mind.”

Murphy sighed and slammed the washer shut, checking the clock on the wall. He was going to be late to first period if they didn’t leave soon. He started the washer. He’d come back during his free period to put everything in the dryer. He turned to Charlotte and said, “Get your backpack, it’s time to go.”

She slipped her hand into his again as they walked towards the school. He wondered how long it had been since she’d felt safe. 

“While we’re walking, let’s lay down some ground rules,” he said. “First, no sharp objects. None at all, got it?”

She nodded.

“No leaving school, no getting into trouble. Stay in school and keep your head down.”

She nodded.

“If you want to leave, you can. Just promise me that you’ll go to the police and get somewhere safe, okay? If you leave and I find you sleeping on a park bench I’m gonna be pissed.”

She nodded. 

“That’s it for now.” They’d reached the school by then. The warning bell began to ring. Murphy led Charlotte to the office, ignoring the stares and the whispers. He smiled at the attendance lady, who just gave him an unimpressed look.

“John Murphy,” she said. “Do you have an unexcused absence you want me to overlook?”

“Good to see you too,” Murphy said. “No, I’m just going to leave Charlotte here until she has to go to school.”

The attendance lady looked down at Charlotte with a bit of confusion.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to leave her at home by herself and I don’t want her getting into trouble before school,” Murphy said. He looked down at Charlotte. “Do you have a book to read or something?” She nodded and took one out of her backpack. He looked back at the attendance lady. “She won’t be any trouble. She’ll leave when it’s time for her to go to school. Can you just keep an eye on her?”

“Sure,” the attendance lady said, looking between Murphy and Charlotte. “Sure, she can stay here until she needs to go to school.”

“Awesome.” Murphy turned to Charlotte and ruffled her hair. “Don’t be any trouble, kiddo. Remember, the cherry tree.”

“I remember,” she said, rolling her eyes at him.

“Get to class, Murphy,” the attendance lady snapped. Murphy headed to his first period and sunk down in his seat. The day passed normally from then on. He wandered by the office to make sure that Charlotte actually went to school and was pleased to hear from the attendance lady that she had walked Charlotte over herself. He ignored the whispers and stares and went to third period, where Jaha pulled him aside and congratulated him on saving a little girl’s life. He walked home during his free period and hung up half of Charlotte’s laundry, throwing the rest in the dryer. It would all be dry by the time she got home, and then she would have clean clothes. He headed back to school and got there just in time for fifth period, where they made a pasta dish that he decided to make for dinner. It would definitely be better than whatever shit Charlotte had been eating for the past three months. They would have to go grocery shopping after school, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

Sixth-period calculus was marked by someone shouting, “Look, it’s Arkadia’s hero!” when he walked in, and then the majority of the class falling over themselves laughing. Murphy ignored them and headed for his seat. He saw Emori lean over and ask the person sitting next to her something, shooting a confused look at Murphy. He took out his textbook and homework and ignored the whispers and stares and laughter. He wasn’t a hero. He was just an asshole who happened to dislike orphans being alone.

After school, he considered going grocery shopping before he walked Charlotte home, but he decided against it, not wanting to carry the groceries everywhere. Instead, he sat on top of the sign in front of the elementary school and worked on his calculus homework until the end-of-the-day bell rang. He shoved his books into his backpack and his hands into his pockets and waited for Charlotte. She showed up a few minutes later, the hood of his old sweatshirt pulled up over her head. 

“How was school?” he asked. “Did you stay out of trouble?”

She just shrugged and he decided not to push her. It was clear that she wasn’t in a talking mood.

“We’re going grocery shopping. I need to pick up a few things for dinner. Sound good?”

She nodded. They set off in the direction of the only grocery store in town as Murphy squinted at the shopping list that he’d finished writing in sixth period. Charlotte pushed the cart silently when they reached the store and Murphy filled it with the groceries he needed. He tossed in laundry detergent and fabric softener, remembering that he was starting to get low. As they were waiting in line to check out, he said to Charlotte, “Do you want a candy bar or something?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah, go ahead, pick one out.”

She picked a chocolate bar and set it in the cart carefully, as if it were made of precious metal. Murphy paid for the groceries and split up the bags evenly so that they were both carrying a sensible amount. Charlotte nibbled her chocolate bar thoughtfully on the walk home.

He helped her fold and put away her laundry when they got back to the house, then threw the dirty clothes that she’d worn that day into the wash. She left his flannel and sweatshirt on, claiming that they were comfortable. He had her sit at the kitchen table and do her homework while he cooked, occasionally peering over her shoulder to help her with something she was struggling with. She ate dinner with the same vigor as breakfast that morning and he put on a movie for her to watch afterward. She fell asleep right at the end and he let her sleep on the couch, getting ready for bed.

He was brushing his teeth when he heard her start to scream.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that the Snakes were going to pay for attacking an innocent child as a way of getting back at him. He sprinted to the living room, but only found Charlotte, thrashing in her sleep on the couch, screaming and crying.

“Hey, Charlotte!” he shouted, grabbing her arms. She hit him in the chest, still screaming. “Charlotte, wake up, you’re safe!”

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath, staring up at him. She began to sob and he let her curl into him, patting her back.

“You’re safe,” he said, remembering the nightmares he used to have at her age. He’d been about her age when his mom started kicking the crap out of him. Charlotte shuddered and he rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. “You’re safe, kiddo. You’re safe.”

He carried her to bed when her tears had been spent and sat in the corner, watching over her as she slept until he fell asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen.... u can pry murphy and charlotte from my cold dead hands.


	15. Merry Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the main plot is back!!

“Murphy? Wake up.”

Murphy opened his eyes to find Charlotte standing in front of him, holding his shrieking alarm clock with an expression of tired irritation. He turned it off for her. 

“Time for breakfast,” he said, standing up and stretching out his back. “Only a week of school left before winter break. Gotta keep up those grades and shit.”

“There’s a bottle of whiskey on your nightstand.”

Murphy stopped cold, looking down at Charlotte. There were tears in her eyes.

“Do you drink?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

“Sometimes,” he said. She threw the alarm clock at him. It bounced off his chest. “Listen, Charlotte-”

“My parents were killed by a cop who was drinking!” she screamed at him. “And you brought me here and you drink!”

Murphy let her scream at him. He stood there and he took it, every horrible thing that she said. Finally, she finished yelling. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“See that spot on the carpet?” he said, pointing at the stain that had never quite come out. Charlotte scowled. 

“What about it?”

“That’s where I found my mom,” Murphy said. “Sitting in a pool of her own vomit, dead.”

Charlotte shivered.

“She’d been an alcoholic for nine years. Beat the crap out of me and drank just about every night. Her addiction killed her. Do you know how long I’ve been drinking, Charlotte?”

“No.”

“Since Emori left. A little over a month, now.”

“So?”

“So my mom couldn’t get sober. She’d been trying and failing since I was nine. I can get sober. I will get sober. You want to know why?” Charlotte went to turn away, but he grabbed her arms and forced her to look him in the eye. “Because I don’t want to be my mother, Charlotte. And I don’t want you to be me. So I’m gonna get sober. Okay? I promise I will get sober.”

Tears filled her eyes and she said, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

His lips twitched, but he offered her his pinky. She hooked hers around it and shook their hands. She sniffed and looked down at the carpet.

“I’m sorry for getting mad,” she said. “And for all the mean things I said.”

“I deserved it,” Murphy replied. “Come on. Let’s dump that shit.”

They gathered all the bottles in the house and dumped them down the shower drain, then washed out the bottles and peeled off the labels and lined up the empty bottles on the kitchen counter. Murphy wanted to make a new mobile to replace the chicken feather one, and the bottles would make for an interesting one.

They ended up being late to school, but Charlotte had forgiven him for the whiskey bottle and he had the promise of getting sober to put a skip in his step, so neither of them particularly cared.

 

* * *

 

Before Murphy knew it, it was the middle of winter break and Charlotte was fixed in his life as if she’d always been there. She’d only been living with him for a little over two weeks, but he already noticed her disposition improving. Every time she smiled felt like a victory. On the weekend, he dropped her off at the Arkadia Library while he went to work and she did homework and read books and waited for him to get off off work. She helped him decorate the house for Christmas and he dipped into his California money and bought her a new sweater for Christmas after work, wrapping it up and placing it under the Christmas tree. The look on her face when she saw that she had a present under the tree was worth every penny.

As for Murphy, getting sober proved harder than he expected. He would get headaches and stomach pangs, find himself irritable and moody, and have shaking hands during times in the day. But he’d made a promise, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as his mom, not when there was a child in the mix. After about a week, he stopped experiencing the symptoms. He was sober.

Charlotte quickly revealed herself to be a sweet, affectionate girl. She would slip her hand into Murphy’s when walking places, hug him when she saw him after work or school, and in the mornings when she got up to get breakfast. Murphy begrudgingly let her hug him and hold his hand, since it seemed to make her happy, and she was far too sad for him to rob her of that.

On Christmas Eve, they were in the kitchen, baking cookies, when the doorbell rang. Murphy flicked a bit of flour on her and she laughed. 

“I’ll be right back, kiddo.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and casually closed his hand around the pocketknife there. His last day at school before break started had featured a blood-red spray-painted snake on his locker. He wasn’t going to put up with their threats, not on Christmas Eve. 

He opened the door, ready to face Mbege or whoever else was waiting on the other side for him.

“Hey, John.”

He stepped back with surprise, releasing the knife in his pocket. Emori bit her lip and held out the package in her hands.

“I brought this for Charlotte,” she said nervously. “I heard from some people at school that she was staying with you and I wanted to get her something, you know, after everything that’s happened.”

Murphy took the wrapped present wordlessly, staring at Emori. She was bundled up, a red knitted scarf wrapped around her neck. He thought that it might have been the one that they’d put on the snowman they’d built in his front lawn. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you want to come in?” he finally asked in a low voice. She shook her head, dropping her eyes to the ground. He nodded, pretending for a moment that it didn’t hurt. 

“Murphy?” Charlotte called. “Who’s at the door?” She walked up behind him and waved at Emori. “Hi, I’m Charlotte!”

“Hi,” Emori said, smiling at Charlotte. “I’m Emori.”

Charlotte glanced up at Murphy, who was now resolutely staring over Emori’s shoulder. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Charlotte said. “Murphy talks about you a lot.”

Emori’s eyes flicked to Murphy. 

“Do you wanna come in?” Charlotte asked. Emori smiled at her again.

“No, I need to get home. I was just dropping off a present.”

“Is it for Murphy?”

“That’s enough, Charlotte,” Murphy said, handing her the wrapped present. “Put that under the tree and go make sure the cookies aren’t burning.”

Charlotte frowned at him but did what he said. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking back at Emori.

“Merry Christmas, Emori,” he said. She blinked, then nodded and said, “Merry Christmas, John.”

She turned and walked away from the door, then hesitated halfway down the sidewalk. Murphy froze partway through shutting the door, eyes locked on her back. She turned around. 

“Can we talk for a minute?” she asked. Murphy let out a long breath and stepped outside, shutting the door behind himself. He crossed his arms over his chest to stave off some of the cold. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Why did you take Charlotte in?”

Murphy tipped his head back to look at the sky. Snow had begun to fall again, landing on his face like butterfly kisses.

“She reminded me of myself,” he finally said to the snowflakes. “All alone, miserable, nowhere to go. She tried to throw herself off a roof. She’s only eleven. I knew the cops wouldn’t help her, that social services in this town suck, and that if she didn’t get some real help, she would end up right back on that roof. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

He looked down at Emori. She was staring at him like she wasn’t sure what to say. 

“Merry Christmas, John,” she finally said. He sighed, sticking his hand in his pockets. He gave her a small, sad smile.

“Merry Christmas, Emori.”

She turned and walked down the street. Murphy headed back into the house, spotting Charlotte with her nose pressed to the living room window. He flung the door open and said, “You nosy little shit, couldn’t leave us alone for five seconds, could you?”

She ran into the kitchen, shrieking with laughter. He grabbed a handful of flour from the bag and dropped it on her head, saying, “That’ll teach you not to eavesdrop!” She retaliated by flinging a spoonful of frosting in his face. They declared a truce quickly, not wanting to waste any more ingredients, and Charlotte went to the bathroom to wash the flour out of her hair. Murphy used a wet dish towel to get the frosting off his face and leaned against the kitchen counter, thinking. 

Emori’s visit had shaken loose something within him that he’d been trying hard to bury since Charlotte had come to live with him. It reminded him of why he wanted a drink so damn badly - the hole in his chest that Emori left was a gaping wound, one that still ached and burned. Why had she come? Didn’t she hate him? He couldn’t blame her for hating him. He broke her heart. 

But why did she come?

“Are you thinking about Emori again?”

Murphy scowled at Charlotte, who had hopped up onto the counter next to him, her hair dripping on the kitchen floor.

“What makes you think I’m thinking about Emori?”

“You’ve got that sad look on your face again. You always get it when you talk about her.”

Murphy sighed. Charlotte was, he was discovering, quite good at reading his facial expressions.

“Why did you guys break up?” Charlotte asked, fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater. “You seem like you were really happy.”

“I lied to her,” Murphy said. “About something really big. She found out about it.”

“And she didn’t forgive you for lying?”

“There were so many times that I could have told her the truth but didn’t. I chose to continue lying to her by not telling her the truth. She had every right to be angry with me.”

Charlotte looked down at the sleeves of her sweater and nodded. 

“I’m sorry that she dumped you,” she said. 

“It’s okay,” Murphy said. “Come on, let’s frost these cookies before they get stale.”

That night, after Charlotte fell asleep, Murphy slipped out to the back porch and looked at the mobile he and Charlotte had made out of the empty liquor bottles. It was a good reminder, he thought, of all the reasons he had to stay sober. It reminded him of the chicken feathers, too - the smaller bottles at the top and the bigger ones hanging at the bottom. His mind laid a memory of the feathers over the bottles and he shut his eyes, not wanting to look any longer. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, and went back inside.

 

* * *

 

Charlotte woke him up by flipping on the lights in his room and shrieking, “It’s Christmas, Murphy! Get up!” When he just groaned and pulled his pillow over his face, she ripped his blankets away and said, “I know you have bacon in the fridge that you were going to make and I’m hungry! Get up, you bum, it’s Christmas!”

He begrudgingly got up and she hugged him tightly, saying, “Merry Christmas, Murphy.” He ruffled her hair and said, “Merry Christmas, kiddo. I’ll make you that bacon if you let go of me.”

She sat on the counter, chattering about her last Christmas with her parents while he cooked the aforementioned bacon and some eggs. She told him about their family tradition of putting out cookies for Santa and how she was glad that the two of them had made cookies, even if it wasn’t the same.

“But Santa  _ must  _ have come last night,” she said, pointing at the plate of cookies. “The cookies are all gone.”

Murphy froze, turning to look. Sure enough, the plate was empty, only a few crumbs left decorating the red-painted ceramic. He turned off the stove and picked up a knife off the counter. 

“Charlotte,” he said quietly. “Get behind me.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Dammit, Charlotte, just get behind me.”

She obliged, a hint of fear in her eyes, and Murphy crept towards the living room. The lock on the front door was visibly broken, but the door itself was shut. Murphy peered around the room, checking in the coat closet and under the furniture. He inspected the laundry room and the garage for any unwanted guests, then the bathroom and the bedrooms, then the backyard. When his search didn’t turn up any people, he put the knife in Charlotte’s hand and said, “If you see anyone that isn’t me, stab them, okay? I’m going to check and see if whoever broke in took something.”

Charlotte nodded, settling next to the sink with the knife clutched tightly in her hands. Murphy began to search the house again, checking the drawer that he kept his money in and the safe in the back of the closet. Both were untouched. He kept checking, searching for a conspicuously empty space that would tell him that this had just been a burglary and not something more sinister. 

He was in the living room, looking under the tree, when he saw it. A small, wrapped present, tied with a ribbon painted with a blood-red snake. His hands shook as he picked it up to look at it. He checked under the tree for any other mysterious packages, but the only other ones were the sweater he’d bought for Charlotte, the present Emori had brought the night before, and Charlotte’s clumsily wrapped present for him. He carried the box to the kitchen and said to Charlotte, “They left this under the tree.”

She peered at it, frowning. 

“Why is there a snake on the ribbon?”

“It’s the Snakes,” Murphy said, untying the ribbon. “The gang. They’re sending a message of some kind.”

“Why would they send a message to you?”

“They don’t like me all that much,” Murphy said, edging a fingernail under the tape holding the box shut. “It’s sort of a long story.”

The tape ripped and the box popped open. Murphy stared at the contents, rage boiling in his chest, threatening to bubble over. Nestled in a cushion of white tissue paper was a red knitted scarf. He lifted it out and caught a whiff of green apple shampoo.

“That’s Emori’s scarf,” Charlotte said, frowning. “Is she a Snake?”

“No,” Murphy said quietly. “No, she is most certainly not.”

He ripped apart the tissue paper, but there was nothing else in the box, not even a taunting note from Mbege. Just the scarf. Murphy set it down on the counter, inhaling and exhaling through gritted teeth as he tried to control the part of him that screamed that he had to go to Emori’s house immediately, just to make sure that she was okay. The Snakes could have gotten the scarf from a number of places. She might have dropped it on her way home. Maybe she’d stopped by the grocery store or a restaurant and forgotten it. Maybe it wasn’t even hers, just a similar scarf that they’d smeared green apple shampoo on. 

All of that was wishful thinking and he knew it. They’d either gotten the scarf from her house or they’d ripped it from her neck.

“I’m going to go to Emori’s house,” Murphy said to Charlotte, picking up his shoes. “I’ll be back soon. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte said. “Is Emori okay?”

“I don’t know,” Murphy said, shoving his feet into his snow boots and tying the laces hastily. He grabbed his winter coat and pulled it on. “I don’t know, but I’ll be back soon. Don’t eat all the bacon, don’t open your presents until I get back, and don’t open the door for anyone.”

“Okay.” She gave him a hug and he ruffled her hair. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will, kiddo. Don’t eat all the bacon.”

Once he was sure that Charlotte wouldn’t be able to see him from the window, he broke into a run, taking the shortest way he knew to Emori’s house. He slipped and fell twice, but got up and kept running immediately. He kept the scarf clutched tightly in his hands. He had no idea what he would find waiting for him at her house, no idea if he would find a living girl or a cold body or if he would even find her at all. He just hoped that she was okay, that she wouldn’t be dead, that she wouldn’t have died without forgiving him -

The front door was hanging off its hinges. 

Murphy stopped cold, staring at the broken door. The scarf nearly slipped from his fingers. He walked up the stairs to the porch on shaking legs. He could see the framed photos of Otan and Emori on the floor, the glass shattered and the pictures torn. He pushed the door open and shouted, “Emori? Otan?”

He received no response and stepped into the house. It was deathly quiet. The Christmas tree had been tipped over, though the presents under it had been left fairly untouched. He went to the kitchen. Utensils had been dumped on the floor, the drawers pulled all the way out and thrown across the room. The chairs were tipped over, the curtains over the window were torn, and the contents of the refrigerator were scattered across the kitchen. 

“Emori? Emori!”

He ran to the bedroom, but she wasn’t there. Her clothes were strewn about the room and her desk chair was upended. The sheets had been ripped from the bed and left on the floor. Painted on the mattress was a blood-red snake. 

“Emori!” he screamed, spinning in a circle. “Emori!”

He went to Otan’s room and found an almost identical scene, minus the snake painted on the mattress. Murphy strung his fingers through his hair, the scarf in his hands burning his skin. The Snakes had done something to her, and something to Otan, too. The Snakes would pay for this.

He went to the backyard, a desperate hope that she was hiding there fueling him. He checked the shed, but found nothing unusual. He turned his attention to the chicken coop with a mounting sense of dread. He couldn’t hear the usual clucking of the chickens. He peered inside and shut his eyes.

Each of the chickens was draped over the edge of its little nest, its neck snapped. The day’s eggs had been smashed on the floor. 

The Snakes would pay. They would pay with blood.

He went back to the front of the house, sitting on the porch steps with Emori’s scarf pressed to his face. He had to think. He had to make a plan. He had to do something.

“What the fuck is going on?” Otan’s voice demanded. Murphy looked up to see him standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, gazing at the broken door with an expression of bewilderment and shock.

“Thank fuck; you’re okay,” Murphy said. “I thought that maybe they got you, too.”

Otan’s eyes dropped to the scarf in Murphy’s hands.

“Emori?” he asked hoarsely. Murphy shook his head.

“I don’t know where she is,” he said. “They broke into my house last night and left this in a present under my tree. I came here and she’s-” His voice broke and he dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck. She’s gone.”

Otan sprinted into the house and Murphy heard him shouting Emori’s name. After a few minutes, Otan returned to the porch and stood in front of Murphy, visibly shaking.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “Starting with the list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))))))


	16. Thievery, Treason, Violence, and Fraternizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmmm somebody stop me

Otan told Murphy to go home.

“I’m going to talk to my bosses in the Jackals,” he said. “I’ll see if they’ve received any sort of information on what the Snakes might have done with Emori. If they sent that to you, they’ve probably told the Jackals something. They know that she’s a Jackal, right?”

Murphy nodded.

“I’ll put my ear to the ground, see what they’ll say. For now, stay at home. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I should have never let her get involved,” Murphy muttered, stringing his hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t have let them make me choose off of the goddamn list.”

“You tried to protect her,” Otan said. “That’s worth something.”

“Not enough.”

“No,” Otan agreed. “Not enough. But it’s something.” He clapped Murphy on the shoulder. “Go home. Make sure Charlotte’s alright. I’ll be in touch if I find anything out, okay?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but shouldn’t we go to the police?” Murphy asked, twisting Emori’s scarf around his wrists. “This is straight-up kidnapping, and we don’t know what they’ll do to her.”

“Do you want to get arrested?” Otan snapped. “Do you want to get fucking arrested? Do you want to get  _ her _  arrested? Jesus, Murphy. For a second there, I thought you might have had a fucking brain. The cops will be more than happy to arrest the two of us for gang-related activity before they do jack shit for my sister. And if they did find her, they’d arrest  _ her  _ for gang-related activity. You go to cops and I’ll snap your neck myself.”

“Understood,” Murphy said. “I’m going home now.”

“Good,” Otan said. “Go.”

Charlotte was sitting on the couch, munching on the last piece of bacon with the knife Murphy gave her in one hand. He gave her a gentle, joking smack upside the head and said, “I told you not to eat all the bacon.” She jumped to her feet and demanded to know if Emori was okay.

“She’s fine,” Murphy lied.

“Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened. It was just a prank.”

“What a shitty prank,” Charlotte muttered. “Can we open presents now?”

“Absolutely,” Murphy said, sitting down on the couch after heating up his cold breakfast. “Go ahead, you can go first.”

She picked up her two presents and sat cross-legged on the couch. Murphy accepted her present for him and set it on his lap. She chose his present first, ripping open the wrapping paper. She lifted the sweater out of the box and said, “I love it! It’s so ugly!”

“It’s not ugly,” Murphy said, offended. “I picked that out myself!”

“It’s ugly,” she told him, like she was telling him a hard truth. “It’s ugly but I love it.”

Murphy squinted at the sweater. He still didn’t think that it was ugly, but he chose to let it go.

“It’s your turn!” Charlotte said eagerly, bouncing up and down. “Come on, open it!”

“Calm down, I’m opening it!” Murphy laughed, ripping off the clumsy wrapping paper. The little box was clearly hand-constructed with scraps of cardboard. He lifted off the top and set it aside, unwrapping the tissue paper. A small pin fell into his lap. He picked it up and squinted at it.

_ World’s Best Murphy. _

“I made it in class,” Charlotte said hastily. “We were supposed to pick one of our parents, and then the metalshop at the highschool would make them for us, but I didn’t have any parents to make it for. So instead, I wrote in Murphy, and surprisingly they made it like that.”

Murphy laughed, and said, “I love it.” He pinned it to his shirt and said, “I’ll wear it forever.”

Charlotte crawled over to him and gave him a hug. He gave her a little squeeze and said, “Open Emori’s present now.”

She returned to her spot and carefully untied the ribbon around the box before tearing off the paper, revealing a plain brown box. She lifted off the lid and cried, “No way!”

“What is it?” Murphy asked, leaning in. Charlotte lifted out a leather jacket and slid her arms into the sleeves. It was probably two sizes too big for her, but she didn’t seem to care, pulling the zipper up. She looked up at Murphy and beamed.

“How do I look?” she asked. Murphy swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled at her.

“Badass,” he said. “Emori has good taste.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte said, fiddling with the zipper. “She’s okay, right? You’re not lying to make me feel better?”

“She’s okay,” Murphy said. Charlotte nodded.

“You’re lying to make me feel better,” she said sadly. “It’s okay, though, cause I know you’re gonna go help her.”

Murphy nodded.

“You’re goddamn right I am,” he said. “I’m going to go and murder every Snake that thinks they can hurt her. And then I’m coming back and we’re baking more cookies to replace the ones that they ate.”

Charlotte giggled and Murphy was relieved that he’d managed to make her laugh. He got up and pulled on his shoes. She gave him one more hug and he ruffled her hair and said, “I’ll see you soon, kiddo.”

He was heading back to Emori’s house when he spotted a Snake jacket. He stopped, watching the man jogging in the direction of the Dropship. He looked like he was in a hurry. Murphy squinted, trying to decide who it was that he was looking at. He decided that he didn’t care. If anyone was jogging to the Dropship at 11 in the morning, it was because there was a meeting of some kind. It had to have been about Emori.

Murphy followed him to the Dropship. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up, hoping it would hide his face enough to disguise him in the crowded bar. He kept a tight grip on the knife in his pocket and scanned the crowd for Emori. The chairs and tables had been cleared away and the gang members were gathered around an empty space in the middle of the bar. A single chair had been placed in the center.

Murphy was beginning to get a bad feeling about the nature of the meeting.

“Snakes!” boomed a large voice. The bar fell silent, all eyes turned to the stairs in the back. Cold stole through Murphy’s chest as he recognized the voice.

Baylis appeared at the top of the stairs, his hands spread wide and a malicious grin fixed to his face. The scar above his eyebrow that Murphy now knew Emori gave him seemed gruesome and fresh in the dim light. He shuddered a little, pulling his hood down further over his face.

“Friends,” Baylis said, walking down the stairs. “We are gathered for a very, very special occasion.”

Two Snakes followed behind him, carrying a young woman with a bag over her head between them. Murphy stayed still, even as his blood boiled.

“You must be asking yourselves what is so important,” Baylis said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. The Snakes parted like the Red Sea for him, allowing him and the Snakes carrying the young woman to pass through to the empty space in the center. They settled the young woman in the chair, tying her arms behind her. She hadn’t moved yet, so Murphy assumed that she was unconscious. In the back of his mind, he held onto the desperate hope that it wasn’t Emori.

(he knew it was foolish, but he was a fool when it came to her)

“Years ago, I was betrayed,” Baylis said, pacing back and forth in front of the chair. “The girl who betrayed me was barely more than a child, but she gave me this.” He gestured at the ugly scar above his eyebrow and the Snakes booed and hissed. “Don’t worry, I gave her one as well. But she went to our enemies, the Jackals, and made herself not only a traitor, but a coward. So today, we will remind the Jackals that they do not hold the power that they think they do. They cannot hide cowards and traitors from the Snakes! They cannot protect those who deserve the highest punishment dictated by Snake law! So today, my friends, we punish Emori Sangeda!”

The bag was ripped off Emori’s head and Murphy nearly screamed. She had a black eye and a bloody nose and she was unconscious and he was going to commit a murder or four or a hundred, whoever had dared to touch her-

Baylis gestured to the two Snakes that had brought her in and they brought a bucket of water from behind the bar. Murphy searched for Gina and saw her with her hands pressed over her mouth, staring in wide-eyed horror at Emori slumped in the chair. She caught his gaze and her eyes widened a hair more. Murphy shook his head slightly and she nodded and backed away, hurrying out the back door of the bar. Murphy didn’t blame her for running. If it wasn’t Emori tied to that chair, he would be running too.

The two Snakes dumped the bucket of water over Emori and she jerked awake, gasping for breath. Murphy shoved his hands, curled into fists, into his pockets. The Snakes jeered and laughed as she looked around the bar, wide-eyed. Her gaze landed on Baylis and her expression shifted. She leaned back in the chair and watched him calmly, almost appearing like she was lounging comfortably at home and not in the middle of a snake’s nest.

“It’s been a while, Baylis,” she said, and the Snakes instantly quieted to hear the exchange. Murphy began to slowly move closer to the center, towards her. “How’s your eye?”

“You missed my eye, you little bitch,” Baylis said. He grinned and ran a knuckle over the scar under her eye. “How’s your cheek?”

Emori lunged a little, biting down on Baylis’s hand. He growled in pain and slapped the side of her head to get her to let go. She didn’t, only seemed to bite down harder. Blood began to drip from Baylis’s hand and the corners of her mouth. Baylis began to shout. One of the Snakes behind her slammed his fist into her back, but still she didn’t let go. It took three Snakes to pry her off. In the commotion, Murphy managed to slip closer to the front of the crowd. Emori was grinning, Baylis’s blood dripping down her chin. She looked feral.

“How’s your hand?” she asked innocently. Baylis was clutching the injured limb to his chest and screaming at a Snake to get him a rag and a bandage. He glared at Emori.

“You’re going to get what’s coming to you, you little bitch,” he said quietly. He grabbed the rag and bandage and rubbing alcohol offered to him and spent a minute nursing his wound. The Snakes shifted and murmured, contemplating Emori, who just watched Baylis with a bloody smirk. Murphy tried to get a better look at her to see if she had any other injuries than the ones on her face.

“Baylis,” Mbege said, stepping into the center. Murphy stilled, his eyes darting between Emori and the door. There were too many Snakes. Even if he made it to her and cut her free, they’d never make it.

“What is it, Mbege?” Baylis said, turning to him. With his back turned, Murphy saw Emori search the crowd, probably for a way out. Her eyes landed on him and something unreadable entered her eyes. He put a finger to his lips, glancing around. Nobody seemed to see them. He looked back at Emori. She wasn’t looking at him anymore.

“The boys and I did something this morning,” Mbege said. “Emori was Murphy’s pick off the list.”

“I remember,” Baylis said, tying the bandage around his hand and pulling it tight with his teeth. “Get to the point.”

“We left him a message under his Christmas tree,” Mbege said. “We figured it would draw him here.”

“What message?”

“Her scarf,” Mbege said. “We took it when we grabbed her while she was walking home from Murphy’s house. And it worked.” Mbege turned and looked directly at Murphy with a dangerous grin. “He’s here.”

The Snakes moved away from Murphy like first graders on a playground told that there were cooties. He stared back at Mbege defiantly.

“We hoped that he would come here,” Mbege said, turning back to Baylis, “so that we could give him the chance to redeem himself.”

“He brought Bellamy into our house,” Baylis said, glaring at Murphy. “He broke the Snake laws and nearly brought the police crashing down on all of us.”

“For her,” Mbege said, pointing at Emori. “But she left him when she learned the truth about the list.”

“Get to the point,” Baylis repeated.

“We think he’ll come back to the Snakes,” Mbege said. Murphy could tell that Mbege didn’t think that. He glanced past Mbege to see the other boys in the teenage group shifting uncomfortably. Whose idea was it? Unless it was just a trap. “We think that we should let him back into the Snakes, if he renounces her and takes part in the punishment.”

Baylis surveyed Murphy critically, clearly thinking.

“Do you know what the punishment is?” Baylis asked Murphy.

“Does it matter?” Murphy replied. Baylis squinted at him for another second, then began to laugh. The other Snakes joined in. Baylis clapped Murphy on the shoulder.

“You were always a slippery bastard, Murphy,” he said. “Mbege, I accept your proposal. If your friend can take part in this punishment, I will allow him to return to his family. His  _ real  _ family, the Snakes.”

A slight cheer went up. Murphy glanced around and saw many doubtful or confused faces. Good. He could use that confusion to his advantage.

“Now, Mbege,” Baylis said. “Explain to Murphy the punishment that Emori has earned.”

“Gladly,” Mbege said, and Murphy saw a glint of something in Mbege’s eyes, and he understood why Mbege had done this. He thought that there was no way Murphy could win. Mbege knew how Murphy felt about Emori, but also thought that Murphy still wanted to be a part of the Snakes. In Mbege’s mind, Murphy had two options - choose the Snakes and hurt the girl he loved, or choose Emori and lose his chance at no longer being alone. Murphy smirked to himself. Mbege didn’t know that there was a third option. Door number three was to choose Emori and tell the Snakes to fuck off to hell and go home to Charlotte and bake cookies and maybe call the police on the whole lot of them. Door number three was pretty great. “Her crimes constitute -”

“Her crimes are numerous,” Baylis cut in, before Mbege could start explaining the punishments. “Thievery, treason, violence against a family member, and fraternizing with the Jackals.”

Murphy racked his brain for the corresponding punishments. He paled a little at the thought of them.

“You know the punishments for thievery and treason,” Mbege said, with just a hint of smugness. “We’ll begin with the noose, then move to the beating. Violence against a family member is twenty cuts, and fraternizing with Jackals is six broken bones.”

“I’ve decided to double the last two,” Baylis said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just because she pissed me off.”

“So, that’s forty cuts and twelve broken bones,” Mbege said to Murphy, his voice carrying a note of glee. “I’ll get the noose.”

Murphy finally looked at Emori, who was glaring at him defiantly. He swallowed, trying not to think about Mbege lowering that rope around her neck. He wouldn’t help them hurt her. He just needed to buy some time to get both of them out. He carefully slid the knife in his pocket up his sleeve.

He’d been hanged to prevent this. He’d been hanged to keep that rope off her neck and it was worth nothing in the end.

He was going to kill Mbege.

He was going to kill Baylis.

He was going to burn the Dropship to the ground.

“Will you do the honors?” Mbege said, holding out the rope to Murphy. The Snakes began to hoot and cheer. Murphy swallowed, looking between the rope and Mbege’s grin. “We’ll call it your renunciation of her.”

Murphy took the rope and the Snakes cheered, the bar shaking from the volume. He looked at Emori, who was still glaring at him with that same defiance, but her lower lip was trembling. She was scared. He wrapped the rope around his hands, until the noose was dangling close to his wrist. He walked behind her and bent down with the pretense of checking the ties around her hands. Duct tape. His knife would slice through that easily. He slid the knife out of his sleeve and, pretending to check the strength of the tape, pressed it into her hands.

She stilled and he straightened, whispering in her ear, “Cut the tape and hit me - make it a good one - and then run like hell.”

“You know what?” Baylis said, watching as Murphy prepared to lower the rope over Emori’s head. Murphy paused, relieved at the distraction. It gave Emori time to cut the tape. “I think you should pull until she’s unconscious, what about all of you?”

The ugly cheers of the Snakes filled the bar. Murphy nodded and his eyes flicked down to Emori’s hands. She’d cut through the tape.

It happened so quickly that Murphy almost didn’t register it, despite being the one to tell her the plan. She whipped around and hit him so hard he saw stars and fell to the ground. She spun around and landed a kick in Mbege’s side, slicing the side of Baylis’s neck when he lunged for her before taking off running towards the bar. She leapt over the counter and threw herself through the back door, cutting every Snake that challenged her. Murphy sat up, dazed, and suppressed a grin. That was Emori. Nothing less than a hurricane.

“Baylis!” Mbege shouted. Murphy looked over and saw Baylis on the ground, his bandaged hand pressed to his neck. Murphy wondered if Emori hit the jugular. He hoped that she did.

“I’m fine,” Baylis insisted, taking Mbege’s hand and letting him haul him off the ground. He moved his hand away from the wound on his neck and growled at the blood. “She didn’t cut deep.”

“Should we go after her?”

“No,” Baylis said. “No, we’ll regroup and get her again another day. How did she get out? Didn’t you check her for weapons?”

“We must have missed one,” Mbege said, even as he looked at Murphy suspiciously. Murphy rubbed the spot Emori had punched, dropping the noose. “We’ll be more careful next time.”

“Damn right you will,” Baylis said. “This was an absolute embarrassment.”

Mbege blanched and stammered out an apology, saying that it wouldn’t happen again.

“Clean this shit up!” Baylis shouted. “Clean this shit up and go home and tomorrow we’ll try again!”

“Hurrah!” the Snakes shouted back. They began to clean up the bar, righting tables and chairs, wiping up the blood from whatever cuts Emori had managed to inflict on her way through, and mopping the water from the bucket they’d emptied over her head. Murphy helped to set tables back on their legs and received a few claps on his shoulder from different Snakes, all of them saying, “Good to have you back, son.” One of them offered him ice for his face and he took it, pressing it to the blooming bruise.

“Shit, Murphy,” Mbege said, a fake smile plastered to his face. “She got you good. Are you sorry that you didn’t get the chance to put that noose around her neck? Especially since you took that punishment for her and she still threw you aside.”

“She doesn’t matter,” Murphy said, pushing past Mbege. “I’m going home. You should too.”

Once he was far enough away from the bar, he let himself grin.

 

* * *

 

“Charlotte!” Murphy called, pushing the front door open. “Turn the oven on!”

“Murphy!” she yelled from the kitchen. “Emori’s here!”

Murphy froze halfway through taking off his shoes, the bag of ice slipping out of his hand and landing with a wet smack on the floor. Those two words spun through his head.  _ Emori’s here _ .

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, picking up the ice and yanking off his shoes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -”

“John?”

He straightened and smacked his head on the coat rack. If Emori’s hit hadn’t given him a concussion, that certainly had. He heard her laugh and offered her a sheepish smile, rubbing the new bruise on the back of his head.

“Hey.”

She’d cleaned the blood off her face and changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing. She tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie and tilted her head, studying him. Murphy cleared his throat.

“Did Charlotte give you your scarf back?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how they shook. Emori smiled a little.

“She told me you had it.”

Murphy glared over Emori’s shoulder at where Charlotte was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, giggling madly. He could see Otan sitting at the kitchen table behind her with an amused smile.

“I don’t,” Murphy said, looking back at Emori, who was now smirking slightly. “Charlotte’s just being a little shit.”

“Am not!” Charlotte protested, but the protest quickly dissolved into more mad giggling.

“It’s alright,” Emori said lightly. “It doesn’t really matter anyways. Thank you for the knife.”

“It was the least I could do,” Murphy said, his eyes fixed on the ground. Emori stepped closer and he raised his gaze to her face, swallowing at her close proximity. She reached up and put her hands on his face. He shut his eyes. Her lips pressed to the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Murphy broke, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. She held him tightly, her fingers running lightly up and down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing hot tears out of his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I said, I’m sorry for the list, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking glad you’re okay. I would have died before I let them hurt you.”

“I know,” was all she said, her fingers tracing shapes across his back. “I know.”

It took a few long minutes before either of them let go. Murphy stared at her, raking his gaze over the bruise on the side of her face and the freckles across her nose and cheeks and the scar under her eye. She was beautiful, even bruised and bloody.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, rubbing her thumb gently over the bruise she’d left on the side of his face. She lifted her other hand to his face and pushed a tear away with her fingers. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Murphy,” Charlotte whined. “You said we would make cookies.”

Murphy laughed, looking past Emori.

“We will, you little shit. Be patient.”

“If you don’t mind, we brought our Christmas presents here,” Emori said, gesturing at the small stack sitting on the couch. “We were hoping you could give us somewhere to stay for a couple of days.”

“Of course,” Murphy said immediately. “As long as you need to. The Snakes won’t look for you here, not now that they think I’m back on their side.”

“They weren’t suspicious of you?”

“Baylis blamed Mbege for not checking you for weapons.”

“Ha,” Emori said. “He checked me, trust me. I’ll give him a black eye as payback next time I see him.”

“I’ll get the other eye.”

She laughed and the gaping wound in Murphy’s chest began to close. He said, “We should start on those cookies before Charlotte decides to do something irrational like bake by herself.”

Emori laughed again and helped make the cookie dough, flicking flour and frosting at Murphy when he wasn’t paying attention and listening to Charlotte’s stories and chatter while Otan drank strong black coffee and made sarcastic comments.

Murphy couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jk there was a happy ending for this chapter..........:))))))))))


End file.
